


Perfect

by Woah_Larry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Boy Harry, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate to Love, M/M, Multi, Nerd Louis, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:39:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woah_Larry/pseuds/Woah_Larry
Summary: In all respect, Mr. Winston, why don't we—you—just expel Harry? What benefit is he to Stone Hill High? That's what you really need to consider. He's constantly in trouble, and there are more than enough incidents marked on his record to get him expelled like that." I snap my fingers to show how easy it would be to get Harry Styles transferred to another school.Ben sighs, running his hands down his face, and then he opened his eyes again and slid a file across the desk to me. With a curious look, I flip it open, and am met with many papers, on top being Harry' High School transcript. This is our senior year—he has three years worth of grades on file already.Three years worth of perfect grades on file.or The one where Louis thought that he had the perfect life, perfect grades, perfect records, until some competition proved otherwise.





	Perfect

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, or Facebook.

Louis--

I think that the only thing Harry Styles and I have in common is the amount of time we each spend in the principal's office.

Even that's not too accurate, because being sent to the Principal's office has a negative connotation. And it is a negative thing in Harry's case, because he's a bad boy, and so he's sent there for things like graffiti, and pranks, and inappropriate things. I, however, am always in there for positive reasons. I'm Principal Winston’s favorite student. He even gave me permission to address him by his first name, Ben. Not that I ever will, because that's highly inappropriate, but still, only I and the staff get that particular privilege. Thus, this confirms my thought that I am, in fact, his favorite student.

Of course I am, though. I'm the definition of a star student. My grades are absolutely spectacular, I am very organized, and very involved in the school. I'm the school council president, as well as president of the ecology club, the writing club, Yearbook Staff, and the debate team. There's really nothing that I could do to make me more perfect, as a student, because I'm there already.

There are some disadvantages of being so perfect, though. One being the lack of friends. But it doesn't matter, really. When you think about it, all the popular people, who have cute clothing and bad mouths, and lots of friends (e.g. Nicholas Grimshaw, Harry Styles, Kendall Jenner, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, ect.) are the people who will more likely than not end up not going to college, having a child at an inappropriate age, and live off of welfare, while people like I will end up being successful and happy in my later years (not that I'm unhappy now).

So maybe not having friends isn't actually a disadvantage, after all. Less distractions from what's really important: school. He and I also have never been in a serious relationship but I think he has more experience than I in the case if all the guys and girls he's been with.

I don't get out of the house much, either. Sometimes, when reading people's Facebook status', and their Check-In's, I get a twang of jealousy, since I never go to parties or dances or anything, or to little get-togethers. I don't have enough time, with my stacked schedule. Really, I rarely have any time to eat, much less "hang out". It's pointless, anyway. Studying is what will get you anywhere, not "chilling with your peeps".

So really, my life doesn't actually have disadvantages, when I think about it.

"God, I don't know what to with that boy," Ben tells me now (I only refer to him as Ben in my mind, not aloud).

"Gosh," I correct, and he nods. You see, I'm not actually religious, but I understand that there are people in the school that are, and using God's name in vain can be offensive. I sigh. "In all respect, Mr. Winston, why don't we—you—just expel him? What benefit is he to Stone Hill High? That's what you really need to consider. He comes in this office just as much as you do, he's constantly in trouble. And there are more than enough incidents marked on his record to get him expelled like that."

I emphasize that with a snap of my fingers (showing how easy/quick it would be to get Harry Styles transferred to another school).

Ben sighs, running his hands down his face, and then he opened his eyes again and slid a file across the desk to me. With a curious look, I flip it open, and am met with many papers, on top being Harry's High School transcript. This is our senior year—he has three years worth of grades on file already.

Three years worth of perfect grades on file.

Literally, perfect. Not a flaw. There are AP courses on here, he's on my level of mathematics and sciences. Actually, he's on my level of everything. With his AP and Honors courses, he has a 5.0. A 5.0, just like me. He is in clubs. President of the Guitar Club, Captain of the Varsity soccer team, Founder of the Art Club, and Editor of the Newspaper. He was perfect, on paper. He was perfect.

No. No. NO.

"No," I whispered, then repeated it, "No."

This could not be happening.

"There—there has to be some mistake," I told Ben, voice low and trembling. "There is no way."

Ben leaned his elbows on the desk and gripped his hair. "There's no mistake, Louis," he told me. "Of course we have to keep him here. He's perfect on record. He didn't miss one question on his   
s all three years. He's just as valuable to this school as you are."

Not one problem wrong?

Not one? Surely there was a mistake. Because I missed one (it was very tricky and deceiving). I only missed one.

How could this be, I have intelligence, I have the perfect grades, the most club involvement. Great at everything. I was the most perfect that there could be in a child my age!

And perfect is only perfect if you're being perfect...alone.

 

I woke up the next morning feeling deflated, lost, and without energy. My phone beeped, telling me that it was time to take my run. I dragged myself over to my dresser and slipped on shorts and a tee shirt, and turned on my iPod to a my morning playlist, which included songs to pump me up and get me wide awake, but this morning they were only bringing me down.

The beats were dead.

After a mile down the street, I recorded my time in my iPhone and turned around. When I entered my house at 5:30 AM, just on time, I went upstairs and took my shower, but the water wasn't refreshing. Then I got dressed in my button up and jeans, my sweater, my converse. Each loop laced evenly. My schedule called for me to eat my cereal (with a great source of fiber), and after that, it was time for me to brush my teeth. At 6:45 AM, it was time for me to drive to my zero period class. With my Yorkshire tea in hand, my flashcards and novel in my bag, I got into the car and drove.

I pulled up just in time with my schedule, right on time, just enough to get to my locker and get some extra studying time in for the English test first period (not that I needed it—I'd studied hard the previous night).

Calculus AP, a class that I normally thoroughly enjoy, since I have a talent in math, was very slow and tiring. I just wanted to get out of it. That's how depressed I was.

After the long class I went to my locker, and Harry happened to be in the bay there, talking with Kendall, his steady girlfriend since this summer (not that I'd been checking or anything). He was twirling a strand of her hair around his finger and had his other hand wrapped around her, resting on her butt. It wasn't appropriate, but that's not what I wanted to talk to him about. I wanted to talk to him about how he was sabotaging my life.

With determination, I slammed my locker shut and marched over to them. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice my presence until I was right there, stabbing one of my stubby nails into his chest, thus causing the two of them to break apart.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded with anger, and his blue eyes widened, eyebrows hiking up on his forehead. Kendall came closer, shoving me away from him so she could stand there.

"Um, talking to his girlfriend?" she guessed, looking at me evilly. "What are you doing?"

I didn't really care to talk with her—I was here for Harry. I turned toward him again. "You're ruining my life. Did you know, that on paper, you're just as valuable as me, even though you spend more time talking with your girlfriend and using drugs than studying, when that's what I spend almost all of my time doing? What are you trying to do here, Harold? What did I ever do to you?"

He gaped at me. Seconds passed before the silence was broken.

Kendall said, "His name's not Harold. It's Harry."

I ignored her.

Harry didn't say anything for awhile, then he finally argued, "I don't do drugs."

Honestly, I didn't care too much about his internal conflicts and addictions. He could use drugs all he wanted—I just wanted to know what he was doing with his grades.

"Just—whatever you're doing, you need to stop."

His eyes widened even further. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, you're good!" I shouted, smiling. "You're real good at innocence! Maybe you should join the drama club, as well as all of the other things that you're in just to ruin my plans!"

Kendall chose to say, "He shouldn't be in drama club. He's not even dramatic and exaggerative, he's down to earth. You seem to belong in a club for drama-addicts."

This confirmed my suspicions of Kendall Jenner being dumb as a rock: she thought drama club was for people who were dramatic, as opposed to for actors. Also, exaggerative isn't a word.

Harry rolled his eyes subtly. I caught it, though.

"Look," he said to me, "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't do anything to you."

But he did. And he knew it.

Kendall said, "Get lost."

I said, "I don't get lost. Ever." I have a GPS not only in my car, but also on my iPhone. And, after proving my point, I stalked away toward my English class, to get 100% on my test.

But really, I needed to do something about this huge problem.

 

At lunch, someone sat down at my table, smacking their tray on the empty seat across from mine, interrupting my essay writing on the topic of poetry, something that Mr. Banner, my English professor, assigned me to do specifically, for him to teach the class. It was very interesting (not to mention well-written), and I was very into it, so interrupting me instantly made me in a foul mood, before I even realized who it was.

But once I did, my mood was brought down lower.

Harry Styles, my arch enemy.

-Harry Edward Styles, arch enemy and threat to title of "best student" and "valedictorian"

-A.k.a "Haz" (a very stupid, unimportant, irrelevant nickname)

-More than perfect grade marks

-President of the Guitar Club

-Captain of the Varsity Rugby team at Stone Hill High School, Doncaster, UK

-Founder of the Art Club

-Editor of the Newspaper

-Grass Green Eyes, Brunette hair, long lashes

-6' 0", an estimated 165lbs.

-Harry_is_sexy () gmail .com

Just stating the facts, here. Anyway, he is now important enough to have his own place on my famous cork board of important people (important in a bad way).

Back to the present, Harry is sitting across from me, sliding into the seat across from my own, like he's suddenly allowed to sit there, without my permission. Glancing up from my laptop, I meet his eyes (see description above), and he has this little smirk on his mouth that tells me he knows something that I do not.

This rarely ever happens, with the exception of things pertaining to celebrities and movies.

Then he slides two pieces of paper over to me, stapled together. It does not even cross my mind that this could be my death wish when I first see it, but then I realize that it is, in fact, my death, on a sheet of paper, with a highlighted place for me to sign.

"Ms. Flack recommended you," Harry tells me, not seeming to care at all that I am dying. "You're the best person to get me back on track. So, if you'll just sign...here...and here, that would be great. What days are best for you?"

I felt like I was going to throw up.

"I don't have to sign this," I informed him, not picking up the pen he passed me. "I won't sign it."

He tilted his head to the side. "Actually, you do. Ms. Flack had such confidence in you, that you would do this, to help out a fellow student. Because you're just that involved, right? Why not take on one more thing to the bazillion things you do here?"

He got me there: rejecting this form was going to lower my reputation with Ms. Flack.

But I had to weigh both sides: not tutoring him only had one negative consequence. But doing it had so many. He would waste my time. My IQ had a chance of being lowered. I would have less time to study. I would be helping the enemy. Having some sort of relationship with a boy who uses people and does inappropriate things on campus, along with just getting in trouble so much that the bad boy blood could seep onto me, and I could become a bad, misbehaving child.

I signed the paper. I don't know why, I just did. I didn't even think about it before I reached out and scrawled out my signature. I didn't even think about it as Harry smirked, slid the paper back over to his side of the table, and left. I didn't even think about it as I continued writing my essay. I didn't even think about it for the rest of the day, until I got into my bedroom, sat down at my desk, and realized that I just sealed the deal—I was helping the enemy.

Then I screamed bloody murder.

I never even read the contract.

The number one thing to do regarding contracts, and I'd forgotten!

 

The next day, I had a mission. I loved these moods, when I was determined, because when I was determined, I always got it done. No matter what. And my mission for today was to:

a) Kill Harry

b) Read the contract

c) Un-sign it

Not particularly in that order, but you know what I mean.

Harry was sitting with his group of friends, sort of. All of the popular people, they sit at a few tables in their free time. Everyone was sitting there, and so was he, but it's like he wasn't, also. He was sitting on the grass, leaning against the seat part of the bench. Kendall was on top of the table, long, legs extended down, underneath a tiny dress. She was talking to a guy named Andrew Brewer, and he had his hand on her thigh. Harry didn't seem to mind.

Zayn and Gigi, were flirting on the same table, him reaching out and tugging on a zipper on her shirt, one that ran from her collarbone down to the top of her jeans, one that, when opened, could expose all of her. She was hitting his hands away. Everyone else was doing whatever they were doing: talking, texting, laughing, flirting, annoying each other. But there was Harry (this is where I talk about how he wasn't really sitting with them), sitting on the grass, eyebrows scrunched together, pencil moving carefully down a notebook page.

With everyone else preoccupied, I managed to stand pretty close without anyone really saying anything (although I got a few curious glances) (Kendall was too involved in Andrew to shout anything), and I peered over his knees to the notebook. He was sketching. And he was good.

No, more than good. He was amazing.

It was some weird woman, with straight black hair and bright makeup, loose clothing (well, what clothing there was. One of her breasts was exposed, the other being covered by her hand.) I normally would of thought this crude of him—drawing naked girls, I mean—but it wasn't really. It was just good.

Suddenly the notebook snapped shut, and I stood face-to-face (or more accurately: looking up into the face of) a very hot, very angry Harry Styles.

"Hey," he breathed, "Do you mind getting the fuck out of my business?"

Really? Did he really feel the need to use foul language? I was only curious!

Curiosity killed the cat.

It also killed the Louis Tomlinson.

Darn it.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, two words I rarely ever used, and never thought I'd use to him. "I was only curious. I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

"Yeah, well you did."

Everyone was staring, now. Not only the people in his group, but other people walking by. I watched Andrew look at Kendall, and her at him. There was definitely something going on there.

"Listen, just stay the hell away from me," he said, harshly knocking into my shoulder as he stormed by. There had to be something else with that picture, more than I thought. Was it his secret lover or something? Or, did he believe in angels? I didn't know.

"I want to see that contract!" I called after him. "I never got to read it!"

He spun around to face me, shoving the notebook into his bag. Then he dug around, came back to me, and gently opened my folder, slid it in. After he closed it, I went to walk away (why would anyone want to stay longer?), but he grabbed my wrist.

"Stop judging everyone," he said, low and harsh. "Stop judging me, before you know me. Stop judging Kendall before you know her. Stop judging everyone. It's not your place. And just because they're not exactly like you doesn't make them a bad person. You are so stuck up. And don't think that just because you're smart, you can come up to me and accuse me of random shit, and get into my business, when you have no right." I thought, you don't know me, either! But I think, that he did.

Crap.

That sure gave me something to think about.

He spun back around, releasing my wrist (I'm pretty sure he left a bruise), and called out, loud and for everyone to hear, "And get the fuck off of my girlfriend, Brewer."

Well, then.

 

For the rest of the day, I had to think about what he'd said, about me being stuck up, and judging people and all that stuff. I tried not to—I'd never cared about what he'd said before, why would I care now—but it's really hard, because I had to wonder whether or not he was right. Was that really what people thought? Was that really how I am?

No. I don't judge people before I know them.

Okay, so maybe I did sometimes. But not all the time. And...

Oh, god.

I was really stuck up.

This is not good.

Harry came into my sixth period class, when I was answering a question on the SmartBoard. Everyone's heads turned in his direction, and it was in slow motion: the flip of his hair, the "swag" in his walk, every step, every breath, the slight sagging of his jeans, so that I knew if he were to stretch his arms above his head, causing his t-shirt to ride up, I'd see a stripe of boxers before his skin.

Not that I was thinking about it or anything.

Oh god, I was thinking about it!

No wonder they were staring. He was like...I don't know...he was something else.

Politely, he explained to our teacher that he'd missed a day when he was supposed to take his test in English, and that he needed to take it, if it was okay. Girls behind me had already began to whisper about him. Our teacher agreed, and he made his way to the back of the class, to sit in a seat only a few over from mine (where I was not sitting at the moment). Harry said hello to a few people before taking his seat, and beginning his test.

I continued my problem, but nobody was really paying attention anymore.

Darn him.

I tried to drag it out, the problem. Writing extra slow, making mistakes just to take time erasing it and starting over. I really didn't need to sit in close proximity to Harry after he kind of yelled at me today, but it was inevitable—I had to go back sometime.

I don't think I've made it clear that Harry and I are not complete strangers. I mean, we're not friends, but I've been attending the same school as the boy since Pre-K, when he ran into me with his little tricycle and didn't even apologize, in Primary School, when he picked me up and pushed me, face first, down the slide, and when he pushed me on the swing and made me fall into the sand. He went to school with me in Junior High, when he "accidentally" threw a volleyball at my head. I accidentally kicked him where it hurts after that.

In High School, it was easier to stay away from each other, with the different classes and things. We'd see each other in the hall sometimes, but we weren't the type to say hi. My point is, he's known me since we were young. He's seen my achievements, and hasn't been completely evil the whole time. Okay, yes, he has been, apart from one little case, where I was crying in the hall after my dad died (he did not know this), and he went and got me a tissue box and waited out there with me until I was done. But he never said anything, and we didn't talk about it afterward, either.

And then, during High School, I'd seen him in the principal's office, and we'd shared one or two classes.

So he wasn't just some random guy with a high GPA. He was a guy who I'd known for awhile, with a high GPA.

Who was sitting two seats away from me, still angry with me. Despite what you may think, I don't just find pleasure in making people upset. It wasn't like I was going to fix this, but I wasn't having a good feeling about sitting next to him.

He worked hard at his test, concentrating. I noticed that he had a thing for putting his mouth on the end of his pen, pushing his tongue out and clicking it on and off, when he was reading a question.

I decided to stop staring and instead pay attention to the lecture.

Then there was a little folded up paper in front of me.

My heart beat fast as I unfolded it, for a few reasons. Mainly because I'd never passed notes during class, so this felt bad. Really bad. The teacher was trying to do a lesson, but I was passing notes, instead. The second being that it was from Harry, who I'd previously gotten in an argument with.

It said, scrawled in neat but still boyish writing:

 

 

I thought: What the heck? He wanted to, like...hang out? What is going on? This had to be a trap. Some prank.

I said:

 

And slid it to the other side of the desk, in a very stealthy manner.

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

I heard him sigh.

 

 

 

 

I gave him a shy smile. He smirked back.

 

 

 

So he does study.

 

 

 

Everyone knew where I lived. It was really annoying, especially on nights when they felt like T.P.-ing, because I was the convenience.

 

 

 

I wanted to cancel, as soon as it was confirmed.

I hadn't gotten any of my missions done today. This boy was really doing something to me and my ways of living.

I could say that I actually had plans, or that I really had to study. I could cancel, right this instant, simply by writing it on the paper and passing it across our desks. I could walk away right now, burn the contract, and never have anything to do with him again. Easy peasy.

I stared at it, looked across to Harry, who had his chin resting in the palm of his hand, a small smile on his lips, like he was actually happy to make dinner for me (or I'd fallen into a trap of his) and have me over at his house, and thought that I'd never done anything like this before.

Then I thought: what the hell.

And wrote back:  
____________________________________________

I'd Be Grateful, For This One Chance

For Our First Dance

Before I go on, I'd like to clarify that this was most definitely not a date. This was a simple gathering so that Harry and I could sort things out between us...at his house...where he was making me dinner. Okay, fine. 

That night, as I stood in front of my closet, I had this slight fluttering in my tummy as the thought skidded across my mind: Harry invited me over, is making me dinner, is picking me up. This is a date! Of course, I didn't want it to be a date, or anything, but I just thought that it would be flattering: the hottest guy in school and I on a date.

But it wasn't...just want to clarify that.

Even though he told me that I could dress up, if I wanted, because what he was making was going to be very gourmet. I had said that I wanted tacos. Later, he said that he rather enjoyed cooking, and would rather make something more fancy. I told him that was okay, as long as he still made the pineapple smoothies, and he agreed.

But I learned that the boy doesn't listen very well.

Anyway, after I said that he could make me a different meal that I had requested (I didn't want to be too much of a hassle), he said, and I quote, "And it's going to be gourmet. Fancy. Delicious. So, you can dress up. If you want."

I did not want to. I said nothing.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you later." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Hey, do you have a cell phone?"

I told him that I did.

"Can I get your, um, cell phone number? So I can text you, if there's an emergency. Like if I died or something before."

How did this guy get such good grades? He obviously couldn't text me if he were dead.

"Just put it in," I said, handing him my iPhone with uncertainty. He mumbled something like that's what she said, but when I asked him to repeat it, because I didn't understand, he shook it off like he had said it on accident. I let it go.

After he put his number in, he said bye again, then left for good.

I guess that he'd forgiven me, because he seemed really excited. He really liked to cook.

"So, you can dress up."

Ugh.

I learned that my closet is like an ocean, without the water. I seriously wear the same thing...every...single day. A different pair of jeans and a different colored button up, either long-sleeved or short-sleeved. Sometimes my pullover sweatshirts from the different clubs and teams that I'm on. But that's it. Maybe it's like an ocean with the water, but without the fish. Perhaps that's a more accurate description of the catastrophe that was my closet.

Ugh. I hated being attracted to him. It was really inconvenient, since it made me want to look better than I normally did (which wasn't good, at all).

Good thing Eleanor was here!

That was a lie. It's not a good thing that she's here, because that takes this from one extreme to the other, as soon as she stepped foot in my room, dumped more shopping bags than her own weight onto my bed, and then flopped onto her back on the bed, exasperated.

Eleanor was my friend, my only friend. She was my neighbor before she moved away, but she kept in touch (not we, because I made no effort to do such a thing) with me. I don't really talk to her. Sometimes, she texts me and invites me places, but I never go. This is the one time I have ever made an effort to communicate with her.

I was desperate.

I've never done anything like this before—going out with someone. Hanging out with someone. Talking to someone about things that aren't school or future related. This was different. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. No idea. And so, I did something that I rarely ever did: Asked for help.

Good Evening, Eleanor, it's Louis. A boy from school invited me over for dinner tonight, for a talk, and I would like your opinion on some things, since I have never done anything like this before. Please call when you have time. Sincerely, Louis

He called me approximately five seconds after I sent the text message.

"Hello," I answered, setting down my yogurt and holding the phone to my ear while sitting at my desk.

"LOUIS TOMLINSON!" she shouted so loudly that I had to hold the phone away an inch or so. "You actually texted me! What's up?"

"Did you read the message?"

There was a pause. "Well, no. I was so excited that I just called as soon as I got it..."

I sighed; I was embarrassed to say it aloud. "A boy invited me over for dinner—"

 

She squealed.”Oh my goodness!”

"—but you see, he's very attractive, and I kind of was rude to him earlier...and I need your opinion on what to wear."

I had to check and make sure that the call was still connected, because she didn't say anything in reply. Then: "Well, do you want to go casual, or dressy. Where is it?"

She only ever listens to half of what I have to say. "At his home. I want it to be casual. I just...I have nothing."

Eleanor sighed. "I know—I've seen your closet. It's absolutely terrible. Like you haven't gone shopping since you were five."

I chose not to take offense.

"Okay, I'll be over in an hour. I have to go shopping first. Take a shower—"

"I took a shower this morning," I protested.

"Take another shower. I know you. You practically run from class to class." I do not. "Blow-dry your hair, get out the curling iron—"

"No! It's bad for my hair! And I don't even own a curling iron!"

It's true. I have straight brunette/chestnut hair. Just because I wanted to wear new clothes didn't mean I was messing with my hair. He wasn't that cute.

Okay, maybe.

"Use your mom's. Make sure it's hot by the time I get there." Eleanor hung up before I could protest any further, so I gave in and headed over to my mothers room. 

 

I knocked on her door softly, and she called that I could come in. I did, opening the door slowly, and seeing that she was on her cell phone. I could tell that she was talking to Mark, her new co-worker. She always got this sing-song voice on when she was talking to him. She always talked about how relationships at work were inappropriate, but I knew that something was going on. He came over for dinner here, once, when I'd come home early from the library. He was a few years younger than her, who was thirty-nine. He's thirty-five, and a very attractive man. And my mom's the best, so.

She craned her neck to see me coming in, and her eyes lit up when she saw me. That's always nice.

I sat down at the edge of her bed as she ended her call with, "Goodnight. Yes, I'm free tomorrow. What time? Sure. Oh, of course. Yeah, goodnight. Oh, hush." A little smile. "Stop acting like a teenager. I gotta go; Lou is waiting. Yes, I'll tell him. Okay, I really have to go! Kisses! Shut up! Goodnight."

"Mark?" I asked when she closed her phone and threw it on the dresser.

Mom smiled and nodded. "So, honey, how was school?" She changed the subject, pinching off her pearls and holding them in her palm.

"It was fine," I said. "Do you think that I could go somewhere tonight?"

She stood to put the earrings on her dresser. "We don't have any plans, so that should be fine. Where are you going?"

I flushed. "Well, someone invited me over for dinner..."

Her eyebrows rose, and she grinned. "A boy?"

I nodded, wringing my hands. She sat next to me again. I came out to my mom when I was 16, and she told me she kind of already knew.

"Really! Where are you going, with this boy?" I looked down, and pulled on the ends of my shirt.

"Well, his house. He's making me dinner."

She smiled wider.

"So it's like a date," she said slowly.

"Yeah, Mom, I guess. Not really. No. Just a boy from school. We aren't, like, interested in each other. I mean, we are. He's interesting, but not romantically. Not that he's not attractive, because he's very cute, but—"

"Oh my gosh!" she squealed. "This is exciting. Your first date!"

This reminded me of how Lottie and Fizzie had had their first dates a long time ago, and made me feel bad about myself.

"It's not a date," I protested. "He has a girlfriend."

She stopped looking so happy. "A girlfriend? Why is he inviting you over?"

"We have things to discuss," I said. My mom sighed, like she always did when I said vague things like this. I know that it annoyed her, but what else was I supposed to say? "His girlfriend is Kendall Jenner...You know, the lawyer's daughter?"

She made a disgusted face. "Kris is the biggest bitch..." Kris is Kendall’s mother. My mother is her boss. Mom says that she wants to fire her, but she really is a good lawyer. She's too valuable. I'd fire her anyway, just for producing such a terrible daughter. "Anyway, honey, you're so much more beautiful than her. What's his name?"

I said, "Harry Styles."

This caused mixed feelings for my mother. You see, Harry's parents divorced when he was smaller. They have been on and off, Harry' parents, because they really are in love, but Dez Styles, his dad, when he wasn't trying to patch things up between his ex-wife and himself, had asked my mother out, and they'd gone out a few times. I think maybe they even slept together, once, but I'm not going to ask my mom about that. Anyway, I don't blame the guy—my mom is pretty.

I don't think Harry's was aware of his dad hitting on my mom.

Anyway, I think that Anne is with Robin now, but I cannot be sure.

"Oh, Harry?" My mom says. I nod. "He's a good kid." He is so not. She began to rub her palm over my back.

"Can I use your hair curler, please?" She got up to get it. "I don't know what Eleanor is going to do to me."

There was a musical laugh from the restroom.

She handed it to me. "Okay, hon. Do me a favor and say bye to me before you leave?"

I agreed, and kissed her cheek before heading back to my room.

Eleanor barged into my room five minutes after I plugged it in and put it on my dresser. She was out of breath, and my whole room was suddenly filled with different colored shopping bags and things. She looked up at me from the mess with a twinkle in her eye, and I regret texting her in the first place.

It took a whole forty-five minutes to decide on something appropriate to wear. Nice clothing which we decided on a scoop college burgundy shirt and ripped black jeans.

But it was still, by far, the most inappropriate thing that I have ever put on my body.

I've had to, for certain events where I am expected to look nice to go up and accept my awards, or do a reading. I felt like crap. I didn't even want to go anymore. Especially when he sat me down in my desk chair, pulled it across my room to the mirror, and started putting crap on my face, starting twirling my hair around the hot iron. I felt like a dead person. I couldn't fight back anymore.

Afterward, I thought that I looked like crap, too, but Eleanor and my mother both disagreed.

UGH.

I have dressed up before. Just not like this. Not where I actually cared about what I looked like.

While I stared at myself in the mirror, Eleanor went on my Facebook and surfed through it. She pulled up Harry's page, and I came up behind him, focusing on the screen.

She went through his pictures, and I watched her jaw drop right open.

"OH MY GOD," she whispered, going from picture to picture to picture. Pictures of him laughing with friends, pictures of him with his arm around Kendall, picture of him at dances, of him at soccer games, of him...sleeping, of him at parties, and of him at the beach without his shirt. "He is delicious."

She couldn't possibly know that—she's never tasted him.

Then she went through his statuses. They were mostly uninteresting. Song lyrics, links, Check-In's, sayings, updates on his team's scores. About Black-Ops. His latest one read: I said it's hot outside, let me go swimming in your eyes, updated a few days before.

A simple, overused status. From the song "Lay Me Down" by The Dirty Heads. Even I knew that. Nonetheless, forty-two people liked it. Why? Because he's so popular.

I once again did not want to go.

This had to be a prank, a joke of some kind. He was hot. He was popular. He was talented. I didn't have any business hanging out with him. He was going to invite me over, get me all dressed up and excited, only to throw it back in my face.

 

 

Then the fateful sound of my doorbell rang through my house, informing us that there was someone at the door.

Eleanor squealed, ran her fingers through my hair, and shoved me out the door. My mom was on her way down the stairs, and she smiled at me when I walked out.

"You look wonderful, sweetheart," she told me, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head and giving me a knowing smile. She slung a slender arm around my shoulders and we walked down together, me stumbling every once and awhile. At the end of our descent of the staircase, she gave me a squeeze and let me go answer the door. I deleted the message and went to open the door.

He rang the doorbell again, over and over again.

"God, stop being so impatient!" I shouted when he opened the door. "It takes awhile to get here from upstairs, you know."

I answered the door and his eyes went straight to my collarbone. He blushed, looking away. Blushes usually looked odd and obvious, but on him, it just added tint to his already perfect skin and made him look beautiful. Then he said, "I made Amaretto Chicken Breasts. With vegetables. And I bought the stuff for pineapple smoothies, but I think they'll be better fresh. Yeah. Okay."

After silent moments of shock, I said, "I've never had that before. Is it good?"

He smirked at me, his famous smirk that made people fall all over him (not me), and reached out to peel my hands off of my own stomach. "Why don't you be the judge of that?"

All I could think was that Harry Styles was holding my hand. As soon as I tightened my own fingers, like I was supposed to, he let go.

 

It was more than good.

It was delicious. Fantastic. I ate three chicken breasts, and two scoops of vegetables.

Harry was a good host. He pulled out my chair for me, and ate his food like a gentleman. He didn't compliment me, but he didn't insult me, either. Conversation flowed, and then stopped flowing, and flowed again. It was less awkward than I was anticipating.

Then it got even more awkward. "It's very good. The best I've ever had."

He looked up to meet my eyes. "Yeah?" And he smiled.

I nodded.

He didn't stop looking at me. It made me nervous. I used my fork to move the food around on my plate, but when I looked up he was still looking at me. Just my eyes, looking into them. Then he reached across the thin table, and locked two fingers around my wrist and took it to his side of the table. He flipped over my hand and put his own on top of it, our hands backward.

And said, "You look really great tonight, did you know that?

No, actually, I didn't. The only people that have ever told me that are my parents, but saying that their child is beautiful is in the Parenting handbook. It's something that you have to say.

I looked away.

"No, seriously," he said. "I never even noticed it before, because you're always hiding yourself."

"Thanks," I said, using my other hand to take a sip of water.

"What's this?" he asked me, and I looked over to see him touching the ring on my left hand, pointer finger.

I pulled my hand back. "My dad gave it to me," I told him. He pushed his tongue into his cheek and looked at me, then pushed his chair back, motioning for me to get up. He took out both of our plates, and I followed him into the kitchen, where he put them in the sink, and rinsed them off. Then he bent to put them in the dishwasher. He grabbed my water glass from the counter.

"Do you still want this—?"

He spun fast, and I was standing too close, causing the water to splash on my shirt as it sloshed out of the glass. I backed up, and looked down.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbled, watching the water drench my shirt, looking embarrassed.

I didn't really like foul language, and he threw it around a lot. It made it sound like the person had a low IQ.

"God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he told me again.

"It's fine," I told him, holding it off of my body so my undershirt didn't get too wet. "I'll go put it on the hook."

Harry's nodded.

I didn't want to take it off, though. I felt...like a slut. Why couldn't I just stay at home, and not gone through with this at all?

In the kitchen, Harry was standing at the open fridge, taking out yogurt and milk. I let my eyes slide down to the back of his dark jeans, and flushed when I realized that I was checking out his butt. But it was a cute butt. Honestly, it was. He was barefoot, with a gray button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the first few buttons undone. His hair how it was every day: not fixed, resting on his eyebrows. He always flicked it away from his eyes. He had shaved. He had changed from his school clothes.

Which meant that he'd changed his clothes to spend some time with me.

Which meant...

"Is this a date?" I blurted, then smacked my hands over my mouth. Without lifting his heels off of the ground, Harry spun around so that he was facing me.

He tugged my hands from my face.

"Do you want it to be a date?"

I thought about this. I did want it to be a date, because I'd never had one before. Because I was beginning to like Harry.

"No," I told him. "You have a girlfriend."

The name, the girl, it all made me want to regurgitate.

He spun back around to the fridge. "Okay, then it's not, if you don't want it to be. Do you want strawberries in it, too?"

The smoothies. Right.

"Um do you have Mango, or Coconut."

“Yup.” With an odd pop of his lips, he spun around and shut the refrigerator, and made his way over to the counter, where the blender was. I followed, standing close but not too close, and watched him get the frozen ingredients and take out Vanilla ice cream, and put it in the blender. As he blended it, he turned to me.

"So. Louis Tomlinson. I never thought I'd see the day that you stood in my house. And you haven't even insulted me once, all night!"

I rolled my eyes.

"Can I call you Lou?" he asked. "It sounds better. Kinda hot, actually."

"No, my name is Louis."

He said, "Good. So, Lou. Why don't you like me?"

But here's the thing: I did. Now, I liked him. Before, not so much.

Not so much as in not at all.

"I do like you," I said. "I like you."

"Why did you freak out the other day?"

This was embarrassing.

"Well...I don't know. I over-exaggerated. I really am sorry." He said nothing. "Anyway, why don't you like me?"

Harry said, "You're stuck up. You're still stuck up, actually. But I like you better. And not just because I realized what a bangin' body you have, or whatever.” I looked down at my shirt which was now on the see through side. “Or that you're pretty. I just like you, because you," he poked me in the side, "are a breath of fresh air. There is nobody like you."

I do not enjoy being poked in the side.

"Being different is not always good," I said softly. "I'm always different."

He leaned down to me, and looked into my eyes. I wanted him to kiss me.

"It's good now," he said, and moved closer.

The thing is, it would be way too fast, should we have kissed. Earlier that day was the first time we'd actually spoken to each other in awhile. This was the only time that just the two of us had gone out, because we wanted to. Because one had asked the other.

He moved closer still, and then leaned forward fast, to turn off the blender. Like he'd been planning that all along, to tease me, to see what my reaction would be. After he stopped it, he backed up to look at me again, putting his hands on my bare shoulders. They were large and warm.

"Louis," he said. "Can I be honest with you for a second?"

"Always would be good, too," I said. I don't like liars.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, okay."

"Be honest with me," I said.

"Honestly, you're interesting. And honestly, I'm really glad that you came and ate dinner with me. I feel lucky. I honestly enjoyed your company, what you had to say. How you actually ate, and how you are respectful, and a sweetheart. And honestly, I'd like to see you again. To hang out with you again. We can actually go out somewhere. Wherever you want to. Benihana. PF Changs. Paris. Rome. Saturn."

I smiled.

"The future?" I asked.

"Anywhere," he promised. I knew that it was impossible, but something in there was true.

"And honestly, you're lovely."

"That rhymes," I informed him, aware of the heat on his hands, his thumbs on my collarbone. But I didn't feel violated: his eyes were as warm as his skin.

For awhile, Harry said nothing. He just let a little, small smile flow onto his lips. Then, after moments of silence, he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

I was shocked. The shock ran from the pit of my stomach, up my chest, and up my neck to my cheeks. My body said yes, my brain said no.

When in doubt, always listen to your brain.

"No," I said. "First, we hardly ever hang out. Second, I have a feeling you're playing with me. And third, you have a girlfriend."

He blinked and moved his hands. "Playing with you? What the hell does that mean?"

I told him about how when we went back to school, he'd just ignore me, and act like nothing happened. That he'd make fun of me, for falling for it. That it was all payback for me snooping and being rude.

"I said that I was being honest with you, Louis. I honestly want to kiss you. And I'm honestly not playing you. I'm interested in you. I'd like to see you again."

I thought about this. "Okay, we can go out again. But you can't be interested in me, Harry, when you already have a girlfriend. That's what makes a player."

I'm not socially stupid, you know.

"And the second thing. Why would I play with you?"

"I don't know, because I looked at your drawing stuff?"

"Yeah, but I'm not mean. I wouldn't do that. Is it impossible for me to actually, I dunno, like you?"

"Harry, nobody likes me. Not like that. I'm not attractive. I'm stuck up. I'm smart."

His eyes widened. "You are so attractive. And you're stuck up...but you have other, good, qualities of your personality. And being smart is a good thing."

"But Harold"

He said, "Can you stop calling me Harold? It's, like, not even my name. Nobody calls me that. It's Harry." I nodded, although I thought that I'd rather not call him anything at all if I had to call him that. "Let's drink these smoothies. Pretend I never wanted to kiss you in the first place, okay? I'll take you on a tour of the house."

Haro—Harry's house is bigger and more beautiful than my own (and I have a nice-sized home). It has two staircases that spiral up toward the upstairs. There are balconies and many rooms, windows, and restrooms. As we drank the delicious smoothies, he did take me on a tour. He showed me the library first, and had to drag me out of it. The master bedroom (I noted that there were folded panties and boxers on the foot of the bed—Dez and Anne were, in fact, sleeping together, if not in a relationship), then Zayn's room. It was very messy and gross. Then Harry lifted up the mattress to reveal Zayn’s porn stash, Playboy magazines.

I looked away, utterly disgusted. "Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Do you borrow those sometimes?"

He smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said, then grabbed my hand. "But no. It's gross."

He dragged me to the next room—his—and didn't let go of my hand the whole time. I let him hold it, and closed my fingers around his. He looked at me, the side of his mouth tilting up.

His room was clean, spotless. There were a lot of CD's, five guitars (acoustic and electric), a drum set, a stereo, his laptop, a desktop computer, a TV, DVD player, a bookshelf. Pictures were scattered over the tops of his dresser, the entertainment center, his desk. I stopped in front of a picture of him, all dressed up in a tuxedo and blue tie. He was with five other guys, all dressed up, smiling.

"When's this?" I asked him, tugging on his hand.

"Homecoming last year." He looked at me. "Did you go?"

I shook my head.

"Have you ever gone?"

"To Homecoming? No. I was never asked." Pathetic.

"Have you been to any dances?" he said in disbelief.

I told him that no, I had not.

He laughed. "No kidding! I'm going to dance with you."

When he let go of my hand, I, oddly, felt disappointed and cold.

He went over to his stereo, and flipped through one of his CD cases, before sliding one in. He turned toward me and held out his hand. I shook my head.

"No, I don't know how to dance." I waved my hand in disagreement. This was absurd: Harry and I acting this normal around each other.

"You will dance with me, Lou. No exceptions. Even if I have to pick you up and force you."

After a few moments I went over to him, and put my palm on top of his. He smiled in satisfaction and tugged me over to him, too close. I took a step back and he grabbed my other hand.

"Okay, this is the high school slow dance," he explained. "Put your arms around my neck." His locked around my waist, and then, after a moment, took my hands and threw them over his shoulders. I hooked my fingers together with uncertainty, and he tugged me closer as slow pop music started to play through the room.

"This is it?" I asked.

"Pretty much," he said, and started to sway a bit. His hands pressed flat against the small of my back, and I had to resist stepping back from him. I'd never been this close to anyone before, not like this. Not romantically. It made me uncomfortable. In a good way...?

I did not know.

Then one of his hands left my back to switch the tracks on the stereo. I dropped my hands. I didn't exactly want to touch him, just because we were...friends now. I stepped back, and he clicked his tongue when the song he wanted started to play. He gave me a crooked smile.

He said, "Alright, Louis. Here's my skills. Private lessons. Consider yourself lucky."

I did not consider myself lucky. I was scared.

He scooped one of his hands around my waist and took the other in his own. "Put one hand on my back."

I did as he asked, awkwardly. He twined our fingers (that wasn't too bad—he'd held my hand earlier in the night), and then began stepping in patterns that I wasn't familiar with. I started to stumble.

"Take off the shoes," he suggested. I kicked them both off, then let go of him to tilt them upright and next to each other, perfectly, then I came back to Harry and resumed our previous position. He smiled at me, like he was genuinely happy that it was me that got to be his dance partner, when I was very uncoordinated and didn't know what the hey he was doing.

Odd.

"Alright, it's simple. Left out, together..."

I was nothing close to a pro, even by the end of the song he was walking me through the steps. Again. And they were repeating, over and over through the whole song. He started it over, and smiled brightly when I finally got it. I smiled back. It was hard not to, you see. He was pretty much contagious.

I briefly forgot that he was ruining my reputation.

"Why are you hanging out with me, Harry?" I asked, stepping carefully to the music, with him.

He said, "You're intriguing. Interesting. And way different than I think everyone thinks you are."

I sighed. "Does everyone think I'm stuck up?"

With a sad look, he said, "Pretty much. But it's not like they're wrong."

"Gee, thanks."

Harry smiled. "No, really. Why do you think you're better than everyone?"

"Because," I said, "I try harder than everyone else."

He considered this. "Well, yeah, I guess you do. But, you know, I try equally as hard as you, at my music and my art."

When we were touring, he didn't let me see his art room. I'd asked him, but he refused.

"Speaking of which..." I trailed off. "Want to show me the room now?"

"Nope," he said. "What time are you supposed to be home?"

I shrugged. "Whenever. But I know you have to study, so..."

I dropped my hand from his back, but he kept hold on my other one.

"Louis. I have a confession."

I turned to him.

"I like you."

"I like you, too," I said. "Surprisingly. Since I hated you this morning. And now you want to kiss me. Is that odd, or what?"

He blushed. "Yeah, well. I was being irrational." He pulled on my arm and tugged me close, like I was a fish he hooked on his hook. "Rushed. But I do, want to hang out with you again. A lot."

I sighed. "I won't...not when you're with Kendall."

He said, "Okay. I'll break up with her then."

This was surprising. They'd been steady for a very long time.

I said, "Do what you want. Just don't play with me."

The next morning was Saturday.

I rushed to my computer, breaking my routine of the morning jog.

Harry's Facebook relationship status read: Single

I tried not to jump up and down, squealing. Who would've thought? Romance between me and the hottest guy in school?

I never expected it. It happened in three days, and now I was head over heels, excited, ditsy, love-drunk.

This was definitely not healthy, or good for me. It's terrible for me, really. He could break my heart, just...like...that.

But when I thought about it, I'd never once taken a chance. I think it's about time.

Or not.

What is this boy doing to me?

But Who Am I To Say, That Every Breath We Take

Won't Be Another Pointless Kiss We Gave Away?

I am highly afraid of the possibility that I am becoming one of those people who check Facebook obsessively. I was fine Saturday because I checked it once in the morning, then went on with the rest of my day just as my schedule suggested. But then Sunday, I was on again. I checked it (literally) fifteen times. Before that, I'd probably checked it fifteen times since I'd gotten one. There was something wrong with me.

Anyway, on that little pink heart that said Harry Styles is single there were about a million comments, because he was oh so popular. I skimmed through a few, then saw some between a boy named Fionn and Harry. I'll show it below (and I quote):

Fionn: Yeah? For who?

Harry: ...oh, you know ;)

Fionn: …no, actually, I don't.

Harry: typical hot girl. Blonde, gorgeous...

Fionn: ah, ah. Tan, big tits.

Harry: mhm. Something like that.

Fionn: score :)

Harry: don't I know it :)

 

I went over to my bed and screamed. Loudly. Until I was hurting my own ears.

But did not cry. You see, I only cry for important things. Not stupid things. I just get angry over those.

Freaking Harry, wanting to kiss me, inviting me over to dinner, making me like him, making me want to be his friend, making me want to be more than a friend. Only to rub it in my face that he was in fact, playing with me this entire time.

Hatred was running thick through my veins, like fire.

ARGH!

I decided to go for a swim in our pool, to cool myself down. I did a few laps, then did some freestyle. More laps. More playing. Around noon my mom pulled the glass door open and looked out at me, just as I was stepping out and wrapping a towel around myself. I could see that she was somewhat dressed up.

"Hey, LouBear," she called. "Why don't you come inside?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" I snapped, and watched her blue eyes widen (but really, what did she think I was doing? Wrapping myself in a towel to go take a little nature hike?). I never snapped at her. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"Bad day?" she guessed, rubbing a hand up and down my back as we walked into our house together.

"Sort of," I said quietly. And I am not a quiet person.

She gave me a side glance. "I'm sure it will all work out."

Well, I didn't want her to ask me what happened, anyway. She and I understand each other. This is why I understood that Mark was here, even before she said

"Sorry if it's a bad time, but I invited Mark over for dinner." At the top of the stairs, next to my door, she said quietly, "We're kind of official..."

I suspected that, too. There's only so much "papers on file to confirm," "forms to fill out," "trial meetings," and "professional gatherings" you can have before you realize how attractive the other is, and that you've kissed a few times, and when you're hanging out with them, work is not the topic of conversation.

At least her relationship was working out fine.

Mom sighed. "Oh, honey, I'm sure yours will, too. Maybe it's just not this boy."

I suppose I must have spoken my thoughts aloud again. I hate when that happens.

"But there are no other boys that have taken interest in me!" I wail, suddenly emotional and hysterical (I do not know where this came from! It was as sudden as someone pulling the trigger on a gun, or opening the gate to a stable of horses. This typically does not happen to me: this dramatic behavior. I was disappointed in myself). "I'm glad that I'll get into college or whatever, but I've never had a boyfriend in my whole life! I've never even had a friend! And I may seem fine, and I am, but you know, every once and a while I want to hold hands with someone, or, I don't know, get kissed!"

 

This new low that a hit, symbolizes how dramatic, sad, and desperate I was. Also, the volume of my voice. And just how really pathetic I was.

I tried to compose myself, but it was a failed attempt. I wanting nothing more than to just fall into a little hole and stay there for awhile.

Suddenly, I realized why Harry was such a big deal to me. It came to me suddenly: it wasn't how hot he was, how smooth he was, how cool he was, how popular he was, how smart he was, how sweet he was, that made him the boy that I wanted. It was just, simply, that he was the only boy that was ever a possibility.

I slipped into my room, telling my mom that I would be down soon for dinner with Brad, and then sat at my desk and booted up my laptop, while ringing out my hair.

I titled the document: BOY HUNT

~[*]~

After dinner, my mother and Mark kissed, and it made me quite sad, if only for a moment. It wasn't one of those long, saliva-swapping kisses, just an average one, with her arms on his shoulders, and his on her waist. The smiles I saw underneath their mouths being squashed together. Then they pulled away, and I moved my food around on my plate.

I thought about the blond that Harry must have been speaking about. Maybe he didn't want me because I wasn’t a girl, or that and not wear such strong sunscreen when I went out swimming, so that I would be more tan.

I didn't want to think about him. I pulled out my iPhone, and opened up my document on Microsoft Word.

The first boy on my list's name was Calvin.

He was a sweet boy; nice looking. Nothing compared to Harry, but had blond hair and blue eyes. Decent grades, good at basketball. I decided that he was more on my level, popularity-wise, and that he was a much better place to start.

I quietly excused myself to my bedroom.

I logged onto Facebook. At the top of my news feed was one of Harry's statuses: ...I hate being ignored.

Well, you know what I hate? When people post statuses about me. And Harry's was definitely about me. He'd texted me six times throughout the day.

Hey :)

...R u there?

Hi Louis, wanna hang out?

Seriously?

WTF!

Hey, I'm gonna call you, k?

As you may have noticed, he took the time to put an apostrophe in the word "I'm" but not to spell "you" correctly.

He did call me, and I let it run to voice-mail, silencing the ringer. I sort of wanted to pick up, but I listened to my brain and did not. I have this thing, it's called self-control. Which, apparently, Harry does not have, since he texted me six times.

I went to Calvin’s page, and saw that he was online. I clicked on the chat box, and typed out a greeting.

Calvin replied quickly.

I asked him if he would like to hang out sometime.

He asked what I meant by hang out.

I told him that it would just be how normal people hang out.

He asked if it was school-related. I told him that it wouldn't be. He agreed to "hang out" with me.

After a few more minutes, we'd agreed to go to the movies on the upcoming Friday. He would buy the tickets, he said. I told him that was fine. He went offline, and just as I was going to logout, my laptop beeps, and I got an IM from Harry.

Harry: Hey, I've been texting you. Do you not have your phone or something?

Louis: I have it.

Harry: Oh.

Harry: I think I have the wrong number...

Harry: is it 334-2465?

Louis: Yes, you have the right one.

Harry Styles is typing.

He was "typing" for about three minutes. I was about to log out.

Harry: Have you been ignoring me?

Louis: Yes.

Harry: Why?

Louis: Because.

Harry: From such a smart ass I ex

Harry: pected a smarter response.

Louis: For such a smart boy, I expected you to know how to operate the "enter" button

Harry: Very funny. It was on accident.

Louis: I need to log off.

Harry: Wait. Seriously, why are you ignoring me?

Harry: I thought you had a good time Friday...

Louis: I did. I really did.

Harry: Okay...

Louis: Okay, I'm logging off.

Harry: WAIT.

Louis: …

Louis: WHAT?

Harry: Please tell me what happened? I broke up with Kendall.

Louis: Ah, yes.

Louis: For a hot, tan, big-titted blond girl.

Louis: Goodnight.

I felt relieved.

I sat there in silence for a few minutes, just being proud of myself. But my silence was soon interrupted by my cell phone, vibrating against my dresser top.

I groaned, and picked it up. "WHAT!"

It took him awhile to respond. Then he said, "You see, Lou—"

I suddenly felt very tired, and realized I did not have the energy to listen or speak. I ended the call, and then plugged my phone into its charger, crawled under the covers, clapped twice, and went to sleep.

It seems that boys exhaust me.

 

I don't know why I did, but I decided to wear some of the clothing that Eleanor had bought me on Monday to school. I wore some jeans and vans, and a loose burgundy shirt, that Eleanor had referred to as "Hot, cute," etc. I decided to take her word for it, wondering what I had to lose, since Harry and I had built up a [friendship?] and destroyed it in a matter of three days.

The rest of school was normal. I carefully avoided Harry, and I was convinced that I was going to be successful, when he plopped into the seat across from me at lunch, slamming down a stack of papers that appeared to be math tests or something. I glanced up, and then sighed and went back to typing on my laptop.

"Want to stop working and pay attention to me for a moment?"

I put my earphones in and pumped up the music.

He began to yell; it was completely unnecessary. "The reason that I said that on Facebook was so that you wouldn't get shit for hanging out with me! I know how you hate your name being anywhere near mine! So I just made stuff up! But I dumped her for you!"

I took out my earphones and hissed, "Would you shut up? You didn't make that up. You're playing me! You made me like you!"

He said, "And I want you to!"

"I don't anymore," I said.

"You're stupid!"

"And you're a butthead!"

"'Butthead'? Really?"

"Shut up!"

"Is that the best you've got? C'mon, Louis. Lay it on me. Call me the worst name you can think of."

He was testing me. I didn't like being tested.

"You...enormous...stupid...asshole!"

He looked shocked. I rarely curse, you see.

I continued, "And Kendall wants you back!" This is very true. She dressed up and The school had said that she wore her "get Harry back" outfit. She had also attracted many other males in the process. "So why don't you get back with her! She has big boobs, and tan skin, and is tall and hot! God, just stop pretending! It's annoying, inconvenient, pointless, and vexatious!"

Harry cocked his head to the side. "I'm...pretending."

I crossed my arms over my chest, closing my laptop.

"Pretending," he repeated. "Just clarifying. One more time. I, Harry Styles, am pretending to be interested in you, Louis Tomlinson."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. That's why you made me believe that you liked me, wanted to kiss me and stuff, when you were interested in some other girl!"

I was livid. Really, really angry. I was yelling. People were starting to look.

Harry gave me his hot smirk.

Then, he stood on top of the table. It was in a flash, and then he was on top of the little table that we sat at. I carefully put away my laptop, to save it from whatever he was going to do. Then I stared up at him with wide eyes, as he started to talk.

"Hey, everyone!" It was still very loud in the cafeteria. "Guys! Everyone listen!" As he reached up to cup his hands around his mouth, his shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of skin over the top of his boxers. I couldn't take my eyes off of it: that sliver of muscled skin. "EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP! I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!"

Everyone was quiet at once. You could hear a fork clatter onto a tray, clear and distinct. Metaphorical crickets chirped in the background. I saw Kendall and her posse enter the cafeteria and stare at Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said. His voice echoed through the cafeteria. "I'd like to tell everyone here, to tell their friends, and tell them to tell their friends, that the reason that I dumped my girlfriend, was not to get with a girl who," he paused and looked at me, "and I quote, 'has big boobs, tan skin, and is tall and hot and blond'. Just want to clarify that. I was just messing around with Fionn on Facebook the other night. And apparently, about a million of you guys saw it, because now it's this huge news."

Kendall narrowed her eyes. It was snake-like, and evil.

"You see, I dumped my girlfriend for a few reasons. The first being that she," he thrust a finger in her direction, "cheated on me, with him." He pointed to Andrew, who was just entering. "And because we weren't good for each other, anyway."

Harry took a deep breath. Andrew left the cafeteria. Kendall looked as if she was contemplating it.

"But, the most important reason why I broke up with my girlfriend is because I'm interested in someone else."

I swear gasps rippled through the student body.

"An amazing person who I just recently got acquainted with, and quite quickly fell for, because he's quite different than anybody that I'll ever know." Oh, god. "I broke up with Kendall for Louis Tomlinson."

Then he looked down at me and smiled, like he was smooth, like this is what I'd asked him to do. I began to pack up my things, but he didn't notice.

"But this guy, he won't be with me, because I'm an asshole."

I scooted out my chair and stood, turning toward the exit.

"Oh, look, and now he's leaving. Fucking fantastic. Hey, Louis. Stop."

I turned around and stared hard into his eyes.

It felt like I could hear everyone's breaths—that's how quiet it was.

"I'm not faking anything. I'm not pretending. I'm a shit actor."

I blew past Kendall and her group, accidentally knocking into her shoulder, mumbling an apology, and stalking out toward my locker. That was humiliating, and I could feel hot tears in my eyes, threatening to spill over. When I was doing my combination, they did. I shoved my laptop and its case into it, and slammed it shut, then felt a warm hand on my shoulder, turning me around. Then my back was up against them.

"I know," he said, "that you can't understand this. Because I can't understand it, either. But I'm serious about you. Just let me in." I didn't want to. I avoided his eyes by looking to the side.

"I like you, a lot. And you like me, too, so stop trying to hide it. Just let me in. Hang out with me. Tonight. This weekend. We'll go out, on a date. Because I want to be your boyfriend."

I thought, Oh, he's definitely on drugs—

But then he was kissing me, and all of my thoughts went out of the metaphorical window, and all I could think was: Oh, god. Harry. Harry. Harry. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Hot. Hot. Hot. There's his tongue, it's on my lip. There's his teeth, tugging my lip into his mouth. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. This is...this is like nothing I've ever...Oh, god. I feel like I am on fire.

I tentatively put my hands on his shoulders and pulled him in.

The lockers against my back. The skin of his neck. His fingers on the skin showing on my waist. His hair. His mouth. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

I'd never felt more like a teenager.

This may be puppy love.

Harry--

Kissing Louis Tomlinson is odd.

I can't tell if it's a good odd or a bad odd, but I'm determined to keep on kissing him until I come to a conclusion and so I keep going, and he's not pushing back, but I can feel it, in his fingertips, that he sort of wants to, because this is not something that he does. It's not on his schedule, in his plan, it's something that's new, and unfamiliar, and he wants to pull back because he feels like if he doesn't, everything that he is will just come crumbling down.

He has control issues; so do I. I think that it's what makes us terribly compatible.

I kiss the corner of his mouth, and hear him sigh flow between my lips, down my throat, and I'm breathing him in.

This odd, I decide, is definitely good, but I don't want to stop yet. I rest our foreheads together. He's out of breath—I can feel his heartbeat through my tee shirt, feel him panting, his breath fanning over my neck. I can't read him, I really can't, and it's so frustrating.

I'm still holding onto his waist. He's wearing a shirt that I know he didn't buy himself, because it rode up his stomach showing skin, and his skin is hot. I stroke it with my fingers gently. He wants to pull back even more, because nobody has ever touched him like this before.

I don't think that I'm thinking right.

I don't know whether he wanted to kiss me or not. That's my frustration. I didn't really give him a choice before I did it, but then afterward he was kissing me back—his hands are still on my shoulders there, like he's too tired to move them.

He says, "That was so weird." And the softness of his voice makes me really think about what I did. I kissed Louis, who has never gotten kissed by anyone before. I was his first kiss and it wasn't special at all: it was against the lockers, without checking to see if it was okay or not. It felt like I stole his virginity or something, but in a really stupid way where we were both drunk and therefore it wasn't special at all.

Fuck.

I took a step back, dropping my hands from his waist, and his hands slid down to my chest, just resting there.

"Sorry," I told him.

He shook his head. "No, it's okay."

He looks distracted.

"Was...um...was that your first kiss?"

He blushed; it was sort of cute.

"Yeah, it was," he told me, and finally met my eyes.

See, he's different. Even with him in style clothing now, he's not like other people. It's that look in his eyes: that innocence, that curiosity, that commanding look in his eyes.

He acts so big and tough and okay, but he's just scared.

"I'm sorry, about the whole...standing up on the table...and stuff, thing..."

Then he dropped his hands and ran one through his hair, letting out a long breath.

We looked at each other, and I felt the corner of my mouth tip up, just a bit.

He stepped forward, put his hands around my neck, went up on his tiptoes, and pressed his mouth against mine. Hot, quick, sudden, unexpected.

Then he dropped back down, slid out from where I was trapping him against the lockers, and stalked off quickly toward his next class. The bell hadn't even rung yet. I saw him take out his IPhone, and go through it. I saw him turn the corner, and then I didn't see him anymore.

I sighed a deep sigh, grabbed my hair and pulled, then pulled out my own phone, to send him a text:

 

 

He replied quicker than I thought that he would, seeing that he ignored my last six text messages.

 

 

Then a few seconds later:

 

 

 

 

Then:

 

 

And:

 

 

I said: 

 

 

 

The last one: 

 

I said: 

 

I walked to my next class just as everyone was flowing back in from lunch break, and I realized that he'd tasted like cherries.

Shit. He'd be the death of me.

 

As pussy-ish as it sounds, I missed him during that one period we were away from each other. Not like Romeo and Juliet missing, like I was going to die or something, but I kind of did miss him. Which is just about impossible, since I'd only just barely started to know him for a few days, and just kissed him at lunch break.

And yet, I sat there in class like a freaking girl, wishing that he was just there. He didn't even have to be making out with me. Just sitting there, being Louis, being weird and repulsive and annoying but at the same time wonderful and addictive and hot.

Yes. Louis Tomlinson is, indeed, hot.

I never thought that I'd think that...ever. In my entire life. I've always thought that he was...okay. I mean, I never considered him ugly. But he's just had this thing about him...he's never tried to be pretty, he's never really cared about what he looked like. He just always looked like an adult, or someone with really strict parents, and his personality isn't exactly the greatest thing ever, so nobody (including myself) ever really took the time to really look at him, and realize that he has got the features to make up the most beautiful boy in the world.

Who I am now convinced he is.

Really, he's beautiful. And it's very frustrating that he's beautiful, because I know that he doesn't think that he is. These huge blue eyes, that are so blue, but then around the edges are dark and sort of defining, and there are flecks of gold scattered across them. Bone structure of a model, and a blush in his cheeks, and some light freckles scattered across his nose like a constellation of stars. And just the most perfect, perfect lips that I have ever seen in my entire life, pink and perfect and soft-looking, and since I really looked at him, had to wonder what they tasted like, and now I know.

Cherries. And sort of like toothpaste, and a hint of soap. I should ask him about that later. Knowing him, he probably uses some odd teeth treatment, so that he's the definition of flawless. Which explains a lot, actually, since he does have really nice teeth. But this combo of what his mouth tasted like, it actually wasn't bad. It was just like Louis. Different.

And sort of delicious, too.

I AM A GIRL.

Perhaps I should wear a sticker that says that and stick it on my forehead.

Liam and Zayn thought the same. Zayn sat next to me, yanked out my earphones, propped his head up on his elbow, and Liam next to him.

"Really? Pronouncing your love for Louis Tomlinson while standing on top of a cafeteria table. Could you be more of a pussy?"

No. I cannot.

Damn it. He's making me lose my manhood.

Good thing I have lots to spare! You see, back when I had a penis, I was very much a man. So just because I lost some of it, doesn't mean that my life is completely over, since I have plenty left over...because I was so manly before I met Louis.

You know what, fuck it. I am still a man. I still have a dick. And I'm still hot. And just because I like a boy, and spend time daydreaming about his lips and stuff, does not mean that I am any less of a man. It simply means that I have a heart, and that I'm going to be a fantastic boyfriend when he finally realizes how good we are for each other.

So there.

"T'sup, Z?"

His eyes bugged out of his head. "Don't 'T'sup Z' me! When the hell...there's the other thing! Louis Tomlinson? What the fuck?"

"Chill, bro," I told him, getting out my phone, to see if maybe he'd replied to my last message (I mean, he didn't have to...it wasn't really a message that called for a reply, but still).

He didn't. Damn it.

"He's...he's so not your type." Liam argued. That was better than I thought they'd react. "I mean, seriously! Have you ever seen him?" …...I thought too soon.

"You," Zayn stabbed a finger into my chest, "and I are the shit. We can get whoever we want. So why the hell would you choose him? He's crazy! He's smart, but he is crazy. And he's controlling, and weird, and ugly, and...god, what is wrong with you? Why did I have to hear from your ex that you were suddenly in love with him, instead of, I dunno, from my own best friend?"

I hate him sometimes.

"Shut the fuck up, Zayn. He's not ugly, and he's not crazy. You don't even know him. I just barely started hanging out with him."

He looked at me. "God, you're annoying."

"I'm annoying?"

Zayn sighed, then moved on. He's never one to dwell on things that don't have to do with him. "I think Gigi is cheating on me."

"Maybe it's because you spend too much time trying to get into her pants, rather than, I dunno, spending a little bit of your time with her without your hand up her shirt?" Liam stated.

Zayn glared at Liam.

“And if she's not, then she's still looking for other guys.” He said, “'Look. I don't know if I'm really ready to be official...' I mean, what kind of BS is that? We're already official. I'm her boyfriend. She's my girl. We're in a relationship, according to Facebook. You know what they say...it's not official if it's not Facebook official. That's what Ryan Seacrest said. "

He listens to a male talk show host give him relationship advice, and he says I'm the girl.

Deciding this was too serious to joke around (a quality that he doesn't posses), I decided not to point at him and shout, "PUSSY!" a whole bunch of times. Instead, I rose my eyebrows. "Not good."

He said, "Don't I know it. The thing is...I do spend a lot of time hitting on her, and stuff, but I'm in love with her."

This was shocking. Zayn's not the type to fall in love. Or even say the word. Ever.

"Maybe you should tell her that," I suggested.

He said, "Nah, man. Then I'll be a pussy, just like you."

He smirked, I punched him. This is how we operated.

 

After school, I "ran into" Louis (as in searched the whole school until I found him because I missed him so much). I noticed Kendall stomp away from him and head outside and he was crying. Hard. I'd gone to school with him forever, and have never seen him cry, bt he was crying hard. Not the little tears that were almost he had before I'd kissed him,tears of embarrassment, tears that he kept brushing away, and tried to hide that made me very scared because I had a feeling that this was really, really bad.

I'd only known him, really known him, for about four days, but I felt the responsibility to wrap him in my arms because I wanted him, and I wanted him badly, because he is Louis and he is contagious and wonderful and intoxicating in his odd, subtle way that was overseen by almost everyone but me.

He looked up as I came toward him, and turned back to his locker, but I placed my hands on his shoulders and turned him so that he was facing me, and then pulled him in close. It felt like comforting a small child, the way that his arms clasped around my waist and he buried his face in my shirt.

"What happened?" I asked, and pulled him back so that I could really see his face, and see that there was a long scrape down one cheek. "What the fuck?"

He kept on crying, and I didn't think it was because of the pain, so much. I lifted up my shirt to clear off the blood, and he turned his face into my arm.

"Kendall," he hiccuped.

 

I'd been with Kendall for almost a year. She wasn't the most violent person, but she was vicious and evil, and she was a bitch. When I thought about it, it wasn't that much of a surprise that Kendall had scratched Louis's face, made him bleed. Because she was mean when she wanted to be, and she wanted to be mean because when I'd dumped her, she was very angry.

Very, very angry.

Maybe I should have refrained from announcing my fondness of Louis in front of the entire cafeteria.

Louis said, "Do you think...that you could give me a ride home?"

I said, "Sure," and grabbed his school bag from him. He looked down, then at his locker, and slammed it shut. I reached out and took his hand, twining our fingers, and dragging him out to the parking lot, where my car was parked. On our way there, I saw Andrew and Kendall making out, and I sort of wanted to slam their heads into the wall.

I didn't.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't tempted.

Holding Louis's hand was kind of nice. Kendall and I didn't really hold hands. We made out a lot, and I'd put my arm around her every once and awhile, but it was mainly sexual things. Not this kind of stuff. So I may have slowed my pace a bit, not giving a shit that his face was screwed up, just to hold his hand for a little bit longer, because it felt nice to be like this.

In the car, he had his hands clamped together, in his lap. He wasn't crying anymore, but he kept on trying to hide his face from me, like he was embarrassed or something. I reached across and put my hand on his cheek, and he leaned against it for the rest of the ride.

"Your house?" I asked him, and he said that it didn't matter.

His mom and sisters weren’t home when we got there. Louis said that she was going to be home at five o'clock. We went inside and sat at the dining room table, while I got some drinks for us. He was looking down when I came out.

"So what happened?" I asked.

Still looking down, Louis said, "She...I dunno...she just kind of...pushed me into the wall. And there was something on it...that cut and scraped my face...I mean...I don't know."

I went into his kitchen and got a wet paper towel, then went back over to him. I scooted out his chair and put my hand on the table, the other one wiping at his neck. He stayed frozen as I turned his neck and wiped at the cut. Slowly, I extended my fingertips so that they were splayed on his collarbone, holding his eyes.

He blatantly shoved my hand off of his and stood up, backing up his chair and stomping over to the couch, grabbing his bag on the way over. When he got there, he unzipped it and took out his math book, throwing it open to a certain page, then getting out a piece of graph paper and pencil, scrawling things across it furiously.

I stayed in my crouch in shock.

What the...?

"You're screwing me up," he said, voice tight.

I got up and sat on the chair in the dining room while he continued to do his homework. His brows furrowed, then they lit up, and he kept going. No mistakes.

"I've never...once gotten beat up. Never felt so embarrassed. So humiliated. Never wanted to impress someone with how I was dressed, never should have worn this...stupid shirt." He slammed his book shut and looked at me. "I don't want to change for you, Harry, and that's what I feel like is happening. And it's been, what, a week since we really ever hung out? And I already got attacked by your ex girlfriend, and...just...stop. What are you doing? Go away."

I was next to him on the couch by now, and he was scooting away.

"I don't want you to change," I told him. "I like you just how you are."

I moved my hand over to rest it on his forearm. He slapped it away. "God, why do you keep touching me?"

I couldn't really answer that. Um, because I like touching you? Because I like touching in general? I dunno, it's just an instinct. Kind of a comfort thing, I guess.

"I don't know," I said. "Is it really that bad? I mean, I don't have, like, a disease or anything."

He didn't say anything.

I sighed. "Look, I don't get you." I moved away a bit, just to respect him. "Today, I kissed you."

He flushed pink.

"And not only did you kiss me back, you also kissed me again. And now you're like," and I mimicked, like an asshole, "'Oh, Harry, don't touch me! You have germs! Eeewwww!' I mean, really. I don't get you."

He said defiantly, "I don't talk like that."

I sighed. "That wasn't the point."

"Well, I'm just saying, that if you're going to try and say what I was saying, which I never actually did say, or anything relatively close to it, for that matter, you might as well try and do it correctly."

I said, "But that's what you're think—hey. Stop trying to avoid the question."

Louis said, "You never asked me a question."

I thought back.

Damn it, I never did.

"I'm just saying...that I don't get you."

Louis said, "Oh, well, that sucks."

I wanted to throw his math book into a fire, as revenge for how difficult he was being.

Then he smiled, and I how soft he looked the way his eyes crinkled.

Jesus, wasn't he cute enough already?

"Stop," I told him.

he said, "Stop what?" and smiled wider.

"Stop...that," I pointed at his face.

Louis looked confused. "What?"

I said, "You're cute."

he blushed. Even cuter. Jesus.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"No, don't be sorry about being cute, just stop being cute when I'm trying to be pissed at you—"

He shook his head and put his finger over my lips. "No, about being difficult. I just have no idea how to do this."

I could see that.

"And I'll try...I mean, I like you. Okay? I like you...a lot. A lot, a lot."

I smiled wide. "I like you more."

He shook his head. "No, I really do like you a lot. More than I know how to. And so now I'm being weird, because I feel like I like you too much, and I don't know how to be...whatever we are. And I don't know how to kiss, or be a boyfriend."

"Louis," I said, "I don't care. I just want...to be with you. Even though you're awkward. It'll be natural, soon enough."

He studied me for a very, very long time.

"Maybe we could just do a trial run. And if it's too weird, then..."

"No," I shook my head, "you can't just back out. You have to put in an effort."

He propped himself up on his knees so that we were eye level. "I just need you to be honest with me. If I'm acting really, really wrong, then just tell me, so I can act more normal."

As his fingers slid into my hair, mine went around his hips. He slid closer, until we were chest-to-chest, and his elbows rested on my shoulders, fingers still wrapped inside of the hair close to the nape of my neck.

"Like this," he said, breathing on me. "Is this, like, a weird way to do this?"

I laughed and gripped his thighs to hold him tighter.

"You think I'm kidding. But believe me when I say that I have no experience. I'm going off of movies and books for this stuff."

I kissed him once, just a quick little peck. He before leaning a little closer to make it easier.

"Is this weird?" I asked him quietly as our noses brushed.

He said, "Yes. But not a bad weird. Just a I'm-not-used-to-this weird."

He closed his eyes, and I kissed him again.

"How about...this?" I asked, and then kissed him deeper, my tongue touching his. He sighed.

"Yeah...that's weird. But it's good," he whispered, "it's so, so good."

I lowered him onto his back and kissed him again, then his temple and his forehead, before kissing his mouth again, and that's when his mom came through the door. She dropped her phone in shock and stared, as I stared back and removed my hands from Louis's hips, detached my mouth from his.

She was frozen for one more second before she clicked hurriedly up the stairs, saying sorry over and over again like it was her fault that I was making out with her son in her own house.

Gets home at five, my ass.

I looked back down at Louis, who was bright red and embarrassed. "I wasn't ready...for that," he said, making a dorky and cute and inappropriate motion with his hands to represent two people horizontally, his fingers smashing together in what I assumed were supposed to be our mouths.

I couldn't help but laugh, and I sat up and said, "Okay. We'll go slow."

He looked at me, wide eyed. "But not too slow!"

I laughed again. "How slow?"

"Like...I dunno. Lots of kissing. For now."

"...for now?"

He gave me his famous Louis Tomlinson, you are so stupid, I am so smart, "Duh," look and said, "Well, eventually we'll get like..."

He did the dorky hand thing again, but it was more intense and hardcore and sexy (as sexy as hands can be). "You know. C'mon, you're the expert. You're like the head boss, and I'm the intern. You know?"

I knew that I wanted him to be my boyfriend. For a really long time. Because he's so cute, and we're terribly perfect for each other.

"Hey. Serious question," I said, and he nodded. "Will you be my boyfriend?"

Louis blurted, "Duh, you idiot," then put his hand over his mouth. "That wasn't romantic."

It wasn't. It really wasn't, but it was so him and it was so us and I was just really freakin' happy that he was going to be my boyfriend, because not only did I like him, but I knew that this experience was going to be way different than I would expect, and so I didn't expect anything except for to fall hard for this boy. Because I was already halfway there, and it's only been about a week.

I leaned forward and kissed him mouth once, then twice, and a whole lot more, and we were both giggling like we were in junior high again, and he was pecking my lips, too, wrapping his arms around my neck and I was kissing the tip of his nose, because I wanted to see him smile more.

His smiles, god. He lights up the world with those.

 

Louis---

Give Me Therapy, I'm a Walking Travesty

But I'm Smiling At Everything

After that day at my house, Harry kind of backed off. Not, like, he started ignoring me or anything, he just got out of that gooey, romantic mode, and started being more like himself. Meaning, a week later, he got suspended for three days.

Yes. I was dating a bad boy.

I demanded an explanation as soon as Ben told me of it, while I sat in his office, filing papers. I had whipped around, furious, confused, as he told me that my boyfriend had gotten into a fight and was not allowed to come to school for the next three days. He didn't say "your boyfriend", of course, because he was unaware of this fact.

Yes. It was a fact. We were officially a couple. An item.

I'd said, "Suspended? A fight?"

He had looked shocked at my astonishment. "Why are you so surprised? He gets suspended like once every month."

Not exactly accurate.

"Oh, I'm not," I'd said, trying to cover up. "Just wondering."

He did not look convinced, but he turned back to his computer and did not go further on the topic.

I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and called Harry.

"Hey," he answered, on the second ring. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" I asked him, trying to keep my voice down.

"At home."

Well at least he wasn't lying about it.

"Because?"

"Well...I got suspended from school."

"I heard," I said. "Why were you in a fight?"

He sighed. "I'll tell you later. Can I come over? After school, I mean."

"Fine. But only to explain."

And because I like kissing you, and stuff.

He said, "Alright. Bye, hon."

He had taken to calling me those little names.

"Bye, Harry."

And I had taken to not even having to think about calling him Harry instead of Harold.

 

After I officially accepted to be his boyfriend, we hung out for a few more hours before he went home, pressing a kiss to my lips before going out of the door. I felt giddy. Really, actually giddy. I was literally smiling as I sat down on the couch and I just smiled, until my mother came down from her room.

She sat down next to me. "So..."

I said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was going to..."

Then she broke out into a huge smile. "It's okay, honey. I remember being a teenager, with your dad..."

We didn't say anything, and it got awkward.

Then she said, "It's good for you, you know, to have a boyfriend. You haven't had one."

I hated being reminded of how pathetic I was. I mean, never had a boyfriend. In all four years of high school, not one boy had been interested in me. Except for Calvin, who I already canceled my date with, since I figured that was cheating, now.

"Yeah," I agreed, still smiling. Smiling, just thinking about it. Which is pretty pathetic, considering I had only ever done that about my transcript.

My phone buzzed from my bag, and I unzipped it to see that I had one new message from Harry.

I just realized that we never got to actually cleaning that scrape...put a bandage on it, will ya?

My mother, who was, rudely, reading this over my shoulder, gasped. "What scrape?"

I sighed.

"Nothing, mom." If she knew how much drama Harry had already caused, she wouldn't let me hang out with him anymore, and if I wasn't allowed to hang out with him anymore..!

"I accidentally ran into a wall." I mentally slapped myself, but it was only a half lie. I wall was involved. 

She didn't buy it, but still, she said, "I'm going out with Mark tonight," changing the subject.

"Okay," I said. "Have fun."

"Yeah. No boys over."

Like I would ever.

 

Harry was waiting for me before school, hanging out with a few of his friends near my locker. They all stared at me as I came close, and then...my boyfriend, broke away from them and came over to me. They all slowly walked away. I continued to my locker, while he came up next to me and smiled.

I smiled back.

"Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," I said.

"I brought you a coffee," he said, handing one to me, and I told him thank you.

While I got out my stuff, taking a quick sip, he leaned against my locker and crossed one leg over the other, so smooth. When I had all my stuff out, he used his elbow to slam it shut and then took my coffee, set it on the floor, and suddenly put my face between both of his palms.

Then he kissed me.

It was really short. Really, really, short. Too short, but enough to make my head spin, because it was hard. Then, satisfied, he picked up my coffee, handed it to me, while I accepted it, dazed. Then he took my unoccupied hand and twined our fingers, and walked me to class. In front of the whole school, Harry, the most popular guy there, walked me, the loner, to class, while holding my hand.

It was cliché and perfect.

Everyone stared. They stared and they whispered and they stared and whispered some more, and one girl even took out her Blackberry to snap a picture.

I felt oddly like a celebrity.

When we got there, he kissed my cheek, squeezed me, and said goodbye, walking off. Immediately, guys surrounded him, and they laughed and hit each other and acted like guys, and I wondered what it was like to really, actually have friends.

 

"Zayn told his girlfriend that he loved her today," Harry told me at lunch that day, while he picked at his salad. I had a stare down with my sandwich. I really didn't feel like Subway today. Harry looked at it. "Wanna trade?"

We traded lunches, and as I stabbed my fork into a piece of lettuce, I asked, "Yeah? What did she say?"

He smiled to himself while he chewed. Then he swallowed and said, "'Liar.'"

I rose my eyebrows.

"It's because he's such an ass all the time," he explained. "I'd think he was lying, too. I mean, he does love her, but the only reason he admitted it was because he was afraid she was cheating on him. You know, like how some girlfriends or wives get pregnant to make sure their partner won't leave them? That kinda thing."

I looked at him. "Love's stupid."

His eyes snapped up. "What?"

"It's dumb. I mean, people say that they fall into it all the time...but really? It's an illusion, mixed with a bunch of chemicals and hormones. And plus, why would you want to fall into anything, anyway?"

Harry said, "There's a lot of things that are nice to fall into. Clouds. Candy." He smiled. "My arms." I rolled my eyes, I wanted to say clouds were wet, and a person would fall straight through, but I didn’t want to ruin it.

Someone coughed, "Pussy," into their hand.

Harry called out, "Fuck you, Liam!" but he was laughing and smiling, and I don't know what it is, but when he smiles, it makes me smile back because it's so wonderful and contagious.

He caught my eyes, and gave me what became The Smile. Just for me to see, to understand, to feel it warm me from my toes to my ears.

I thought I may never stop smiling.

Until he got suspended, of course.

When he knocked on my door that day, right after school, I didn't feel like answering it, in all honesty. I looked like crap because I had been worrying about him all day, and because there's no point of dressing in anything cute if your own boyfriend isn't there to see it.

I did, nonetheless, because otherwise I would be being rude, a habit I am trying to break.

He smiled at me, like he was proud of himself.

I considered shutting it again.

"What the heck!" I said, and the smile slid off of his face. "How could you get suspended?"

He cringed, but I wasn't really talking so loud that he should be doing that. Therefore, he was being dramatic. I don't like it when people are over-dramatic.

"Harold," I started again, and he cringed again, then slid by me into my own house. Without being invited inside! Talk about rude!

Maybe since I was his boyfriend now he was able to do that or something.

Wait, was I even his boyfriend anymore? We just fought. Oh, god. I think I just lost my boyfriend after a week.

Well, maybe not, seeing as how he's just leaned down to kiss me.

I dodged it with my amazing reflexes.

He backed up, and his eyebrows rose in inquiry.

"I got in a fight," he said.

"With who?"

"Andrew."

That's odd. Andrew and him don't really hang out anymore.

"Why?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He closed my door and leaned against it.

"It's not a big deal, Louis."

Fact: when humans do not answer questions directly, instead creating a diversion, in an attempt to lead the questioner to a different path, he or she is hiding something, knowing that the truth will make the questioner upset.

So, this would make me mad.

I wanted to know anyway.

"Harry..." I warned.

He sighed, then, again trying to lead me off, slid his arms around my waist and backed me up until my knees hit the couch, and then he tumbled on after me and sat next to me on the couch, keeping his arms around me, leaning his head on my shoulder and breathing in the scent of my shampoo.

Did I smell good? I hope so.

Thank goodness for Herbal Essence and my mother for teaching me to have good personal hygiene.

"He was just talking shit...crap."

I had been teaching him not to curse as often as he did. Success? No. But we're making progress...slowly.

"About you?"

He looked up so that he was meeting me eyes. His chin settled into my collarbone. Looking up at me from underneath his lashes, he looked "About you."

This wasn't particularly flattering, though I was expecting it, somewhat. My whole life, I have been teased, and people have talked badly of me, because I am different, and awkward, and weird. And since I've been with Harry (with him as in together with him, and together as in a couple with him), the talk about me has shot up at a fast rate, because we are such an anomaly. Nasty notes have piled up in my locker and my mailbox at home. Slipped into my bag and binders.

It is not pleasant, for nobody to like you, just because you are the way that you are.

It's not like I want to be weird, you know. I just am. I like things to be on schedule and on time, and I like things to be organized and neat. I like to have good grades and to have success, and to be healthy. I like caring about important things. I like not caring about what people think of me.

But, you know what? The more that I say that I don't care what people think, the more that I do, and now, every little thing, the whispered words in the halls and the Facebook comments and the harsh notes, make me care. And ever since I have been Harry's boyfriend, sure, I've been happy, when I'm with him, but also I've been sad, and upset.

Harry makes my self esteem go up, and everyone else brings it down. Up, then down. And sometimes, it's more up than down, but then sometimes it's not, and that's when I need him the most.

"Nothing that bad," Harry continues. "But it still just set me off. I'm sorry." Now I don't really want to know what Andrew said.

"I just feel protective of you. You...you have no idea...how I feel about you."

I believe him. There's something different in his eyes, that tells me that this thing we've got going here, it's bigger than either one of us is anticipating.

Either one of us.

"You don't, either. How I feel about you," I whisper back, and move my fingers through his thick hair to bring his head down so that I can kiss him, something that I've learned to do: take control. Be an equal in this relationship, don't make him do all of the work. I watch his eyes close before I close mine, just to make sure that he's feeling it, too, and he pulls me so I'm sitting on his lap. The kisses are slow and hot, not frantic, and his hands creep up my back.

Then Harry's face presses into my neck, feel it as he kisses the skin there, and then my collarbone, a new place that he loves, that I'm trying to grow used to being touched. He kisses it more, and then softly bites my neck. It's a new sensation that...I don't know how to explain it...it's electrifying and wonderful and hot...and so sexy. Then he smooths it over with his tongue, and does this a few times. Then he sucks the skin into my mouth, hard, and my head tilts back of its own accord to give him better access. He's still holding my waist, and he kisses the spot before sucking again.

He says, into my skin, the answer to the question that I didn't want to ask, "Andrew said that he wanted to screw you."

I was expecting something along the lines of: Ugly, fag, freak, weirdo,nerd, the usual.

Then Harry said, "Now he'll know, along with everyone else, that you're mine. And you," he squeezes me, looking into my eyes, pressing our chests together, "won't have to deal with anything with him anymore. I broke him."

He kisses the spot one more time, and I think: Holy mother, I think I just got a hickey.

I broke him.

But God, didn't that mean he could break me, too? Would he? Break me?

Break my heart?

 

Would It Be Okay,

Would It Be Okay, If I Took Your Breath Away?

When my mom saw my hickey, she flipped. She didn't actually say anything, but her eyes showed it. So I went up to my room and covered it with some makeup that Eleanor had bought before going to school the next day. Nobody really looked at it, much. I didn't see Harry on Tuesday or Wednesday, and I actually started to miss him. I mean, we'd been texting and stuff, but it's not the same. And I kind of liked all of the kissing we were doing. I kind of liked the new things we were doing, too.

On Wednesday at lunch, I sat at my usual table, with a salad and my math book, when two people sat down across from me. I looked up to see Zayn and Gigi, the lovebirds. They didn't look in love, though. They were looking at me. I wish Harry were here. It would be less weird, since they are friends, and all.

"Hi," I said quietly, closing my book.

Gigi said, "Hey. Why do you sit all by yourself, every day?"

I flushed. "Well, usually Harry's here...but he got—"

"Suspended," Gigi interrupted. "We know. But before that. You always sat here, by yourself."

Well, I suppose she was correct. The only time I'd sat with anyone at lunch, pre-boyfriend, was when I was tutoring them. Which means they weren't really paying attention to me, anyway.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Nobody ever really wants to sit with me."

Zayn and Gigi looked at each other.

"Yeah, well, guess who does now?" Zayn asked. He was nothing like Harry, I realized, apart from their attitudes. Zayn had dark hair, eyes, and skin. A cool voice.

I stared at them.

Gigi said, "Why don't you sit over there with us?"

"Harry's not here," I repeated.

"I know," Gigi assured. "We just want you to sit with us."

Zayn said, "And then with, him. After he comes back. You've sort of stolen him away from us."

When he smiled, I saw Gigi melt, even though it wasn't directed at her. It was sweet

"Oh," I said. "Well, no, it's okay."

I would make it awkward over there, I decided, looking over at a table with pretty people and couples and flirting and talking. Kendall wasn't over there, but Andrew was.

And I sort of dressed cute today, anyway. I didn't want him to try and "screw" me of anything (whatever that means—it sounds violent).

Gigi reached over and grabbed my math book, and Zayn took my salad, then slung my bag over his shoulder. They both got up and started to walk back toward their table.

"Hey!" I called.

"C'mon, Louis," they said, at the same time.

I followed.

At their table, they made room for me in between a Niall a guy another Jock by the name of Liam. The conversation started flowing after a brief silence that was a result of my presence. They were talking about a party that was going to be held at the Styles' house that Friday, how everyone was invited.

Blake just stared at me the whole time. I grew uncomfortable.

Niall, unexpectedly, slung an arm around my shoulders and pointed to Andrew. "Andrew, wanna stop your starin'? It's making Louis here a wee bit comfortable. Stop being such a perv."

Andrew snapped back, "Since when do you give a fuck about him?"

He was Kendall's perfect other half. It was almost romantic, in a sick, nasty way. I wondered where she was, anyway. I mean, I knew that she didn't sit with them anymore, but that's because she would normally be with Andrew. That means that he's sitting over here because she's either a) not here or b) mad at him (or vice versa).

Niall gave my shoulder a squeeze. "He's part of the family, now."

WHAT?

"Please leave," he continued.

Niall did leave, picking up his backpack and leaving a nasty comment.

Then Niall dropped his arm and continued the conversation, as if nothing had happened and like he hadn't just said that I was part of the family. A few minutes later, he nudged me with his elbow. "You comin' Friday?"

"I don't know," I told him. Harry hadn't mentioned it.

He looked at me. "Alright, well why don't you see if you can? You seem like you need to get out a bit."

Gigi said, "No offense."

Her hand was hooked around Zayn's waist. I guess they were okay, then. In love and all that jazz.

"Hey, Louis," Gigi said, and we leaned forward so that we could see around Zayn. "I'm going over there today, too. Wanna come? I know you probably miss Harry, since he's been out and all that."

The other people at the table were looking at me. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay," she said, with a bright smile. "We could hang out. They play video games, and I'm practically invisible, anyway." Zayn kissed her temple with a guilty smile. "Do some stuff."

"I like stuff," some guy said, then got hit by his girlfriend.

"Okay," I said again.

Zayn said, "I'll give you a ride, yeah?"

I nodded.

Then Liam said, in a girl voice, "I'd like a ride too, Zayn," and both Zayn and Niall and Zayn's girlfriend all hit him.

After lunch, one of the girls from the table, Barbara, and I, walked together to the next class, which we both had. We didn't really talk about anything important; just about how Prom was coming up.

"Is Harry going to take you?" she asked.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Hopefully. I've never been to a dance."

She looked incredulous. "Never? Wow. Anyway, I'm hoping that this once guy asks me. You know Niall? He was sitting at the table with us today? Yeah. Except I'm not really sure if he even likes me, you know? And I don't want to get my hopes up, and stuff."

She glanced at me. "Do you think he likes me?"

"Well, I wasn't really paying attention," I told her.

She grabbed onto the strap of my bag. "Can you? Tomorrow? And then tell me what you think."

I shrugged. "Sure."

Then we walked into class. When we had a partner project assigned, we worked together, even though I was normally with someone else.

I think that my life just improved by nearly sixty percent.

 

After school, I saw Gigi, sitting at a bench, talking to someone on the phone. I knew that Zayn said he would give me a ride, but he never said where to meet. When she saw me, she ended her call and walked next to me, telling me that Zayn skated in the parking lot for a bit before they left. Bella was already there, with Gigi

Gigi and I sat far away from them, watching Zayn and his friends do tricks and things on their skateboards. They were good. Gigi said that she wouldn't ever tell this to Zayn, but Harry was better than all of them. She couldn't keep her eyes off of Zayn, how he slapped hands with some of the other guys, how he'd do tricks on the board. He skated over to where we were standing, and on his way past, kissed her, then skated away and jumped down six stairs.

When they were done, Gigi let me sit in the front with Zayn so that I didn't have to sit with the little siblings. He played some music, while the kids in the back sang. Gigi had her hand over the seat to put it around his neck. I said nothing, just returned the smiles I got.

When we dropped Gigi’s sister off at what I assumed was Gigi's (mansion), Bella called out, "No sex!" and snickered.

Zayn called back, "No promises!" and Gigi smacked him in the side of the head.

When we got to the house, Kendall was getting into her Porsche, giving us a look. Then she backed out of the driveway, passed Zayn’s car. Zayn and Gigi flipped her off through the glass. I was wringing my hands.

Why was she here? That's why she wasn't at school.

I didn't like her.

Zayn glanced at me and pulled into the huge driveway, next to Harry's black truck.

Then we all get out of the car, and I follow behind them into the house. Zayn opens up the door, calling Harry's name, and I can tell he's pissed because he's calling, "Haaazzz! Hazzy!".

He wasn't responding, though, and Zayn was screaming his head off. Gigi went into the kitchen, pouring four glasses of orange juice. She handed me one, then gave one to Zayn, and sipped from her own. She gave me Harry's, and motioned for me to go up to his room.

I'd only been here once, on our first date, but I remembered it, and Zayn went up with me. He threw open the door, where Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing away from us, eyes glued to the television screen. He was yelling at it, talking through the headset, fingers scrambling over the controller.

"Die, motherfucker! Tanner, stop being such an idiot and get up!"

Black Ops.

I've never played before, but you must live in a hole if you have not heard of it.

Zayn walked over, very bravely, may I add, and turned off the console.

Harry shot up off of the bed, taking off his headset. "WHAT THE FU—?"

He saw me, and cut himself short. Then he turned to Zayn. "What the hell?" still speaking about the game.

Zayn asked, "Why the fuck was Kendall here?"

Harry glanced at me, then shook his head, causing his hair to dip down into his eyes. "Nothing. I sent her off."

"What the fuck ever, dude," he said, heading for the door. "Don't freaking mess around. You can't lose him when you've only just gotten him."

Him was apparently me.

"Wasn't planning on it!" Harry shouted back, after Zayn, who already slammed the door shut.

He turned to me. "Hey."

"Hey," I said quietly, rocking back and forth on my heels. "They invited me over."

His room was a little bit messy, with his boxers on the floor, and some school papers spread on his desk. At three in the afternoon, he was still just in his flannel pajama pants and a wife-beater. With his mouth twisted to the side, he reached out his arms for me, and like I was a robot, programmed to do so, I went into his arms. He wrapped them around my waist and squeezed, then backed me up a bit to look at my face.

"I haven't seen you in...two whole days, and I missed you."

"I'm pretty sure I missed you more," I tell him, sliding my arms around his neck and scooping down to sit in his lap. "Why was Kendall here?"

He sighed. Even though he apparently couldn't get dressed, at least he brushed his teeth. "She was just coming to tell me that she wanted me back, and stuff."

I gulped. "What did you say?"

"Oh, you know, that I wanted her back, too."

I scrambled out of his lap. "What?"

He laughed, reached over to grab me. "Oh, you should have seen the look on your face. I was just kidding. C'mere."

I moved to sit next to him, and he frowned, picking me up to put me back in his lap. He adjusted me so that I was facing him. "I don't want her back. I want you."

His hands crept up my back, then he looked at my neck and smirked. "You put makeup on it?"

I smiled. "Yeah, well."

He shook his head. "Was it weird to you?"

My eyebrows scrunched together. "Was what weird?"

"Getting a hickey," he explained,

I shrugged. "It felt good, actually. I just didn't want my mom to see it."

He smiled. "Okay. So I'm not going too fast."

That wasn't really true. He was moving a little too fast, but that didn't mean I didn't like it.

"I'm okay," I assured him. "I just feel...inferior."

Harry laughed. "Oh, baby. You're not. It's actually adorable." He squeezed me tighter, then arched his head back and put two fingers on his neck. "Here, give me one."

"No!" I said, smiling (although I was very tempted. I'd looked up how to, and yet...). "I don't know how!"

He smiled back. "I'm surprised you didn't look it up or something, knowing you."

I flushed, deciding to be honest. "...I did. It's when you suck the capillaries to the surface, and they break, and so it causes a bruise-like thing on your skin."

He looked confused. "Capillaries."

"Tiny blood vessels," I explained. "On your throat," I said, running my fingers down his, "they are already pretty close to the surface; that's why it's easier to do there, as opposed to, like, on your stomach or back or something."

He smiled. "Oh, I'm sure I could succeed."

I was a mirror to his face. "Oh, yeah?" (except I was secretly scared).

"Mhmm," he said, then he pushed me flat on my back, lifted up my shirt so it was bunched up, and gave me a raspberry, blowing and slobbering on my stomach, causing me to squeal and kick at him.

"Stop!" I said, through a fit of giggles, and he laid his head on my tummy, his chin on my stomach so he was meeting my eyes. Then he tilted his lips back down and did it again. I squealed, threading my fingers through his hair, and he kissed my tummy.

"You're in good shape," he observes, propping his head up, chin in his palm, elbow on the bed. He traced my four pack with the fingers of his other hand. I look down.

"You didn't succeed," I pointed out.

"I didn't try," he said back. He moved his hands slowly up and down my stomach. My heartbeat sped up, and he laughed, "Calm down."

He pulled my shirt down again, and leaned over to rest his head on my chest, wrapping his arms around me. I cradled it in my hands. "I'm tired," he whined.

"You're tired?" I asked. "You stayed at home the whole day!"

His hair felt wonderful going through my fingers. Not dirty, but clean, and thick and silky. I scratched my nails on his scalp and he hummed into my chest.

It felt weird, having someone right there, but it also didn't feel weird because it's Harry, and I'm already comfortable with him.

"Yeah, well, I'm back tomorrow," he said. "Dammit."

I closed my eyes because his were, and we listened to each other's breathing, until he said, "Wanna play Black Ops?"

I cracked an eye open. "No. I don't know how."

He smiled. "I'll teach you!" he said, like that's all he ever really wanted to do.

He'd already taught me so much, anyway.

 

I hate Black Ops.

I could never do anything right. The little joystick thing apparently meant to look around, but it looks like it would make you move around. Every time I tried to go anywhere, I'd end up looking up at the sky, and Harry, frustrated, would reach over and fix it for me. In the Nuketown map, I liked to shoot the mannequins, because, I don't know, they were easy to shoot, since they didn't move, but Harry kept on yelling about how that was pointless.

He spent half an hour teaching me how to dive out of the window of the yellow house.

I spent five minutes crouched behind the bus.

Harry then shot me in the head. I tried to shoot him back, but I only succeeded once, when I pulled on his hair and told him to stay still. Once, I got an RC car, but Harry just blew that up with a grenade, and a triumphant "HA!"

I noticed a few things about this map.

First off, there was double rainbow in it, which was very nice to look at, since it's among chaos and my boyfriend blowing things up. Harry wanted to get out of Nuketown, but I made him stay, because if we went where he wanted to, there would actually be people that wouldn't have as much sympathy as Harry, who only shoots me sometimes.

Then, the houses actually have Mailboxes. The Masons and Woods' live there. And we don't even knock. We just barge in and blow things up.

According to the street signs, Nuketown takes place at Trinity and Latchkey. They are very clever, you see. The Latchkey operation was the name of a series of nuclear bomb tests in the 60's, and Trinity is the name of the first ever atomic bomb.

The sign, that says, "Welcome To Nuketown." Not only does it sparkle, but the population actually changes according to how many people are on the map.

The plate of fruit in the Woods house sparkles, as well.

The Doomsday clock counts down the amount of time left in the match (and accurately, too).

In the short time that I was alive in the RC car, I found shortcuts in the backyards of both houses, where only the car could go (no humans). There's ramps over there and stuff. As soon as I came back from my Joyride, Harry was armed and ready to destroy me.

The mannequins move their positions every time you enter the level. Sometimes just the gender, but sometimes not. For example, once, on the swing set behind the Woods' house, was a man and woman, him "pushing" her on the swing (not really, since they don't actually have movement). Creepy, much? I think so.

Harry looked at me, "Alright. Imma start this match, and you're gonna do your favorite thing, okay?"

I gave him a look.

"Shoot the head off of every Mannequin you see, as fast as you can," he ordered, then sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, as the screen got color and the countdown ended. With fifteen other guys that were in the map, we shot off the heads (well, I only shot one, but still).

And music started playing. A Rolling Stones song. Harry looked happy. He turned to me.

I heard Zayn yell something like, "Hell yes!" from somewhere in the house, triumphantly, letting me know that he was also one of the other guys on our map.

Harry looked at me. "Isn't that so cool?"

I said, "Very. Know what else is cool?" And I told him of all my findings. He looked pleased, but also kind of weirded out. Well.

"I actually have some studying to do, do you want to study with me?" he asked.

"Sure," I told him, honestly. He nodded, and shut it down. "That was fun, though."

"You didn't do anything," he smiled. I punched his arm, and he caught my wrist. "You hungry?"

I shook my head. "Not really. But I've been thinking. About that hickey thing..."

He laughed, and I put my lips on his neck.

 

"Fuck," Harry muttered, looking into the mirror while I booted up Black Ops again. I was going to learn, to be better than Harry…….. but it was also addicting. "This is huge. My parents are going to kill me."

He was rubbing his neck, looking at it from different angles. Said parents walked into the room just then, saying, "Okay, Harry, it's time you get off of that game and actually, I dunno, get some clothes on."

Harry shot a glance at me, and his mom looked over. "Oh! Who are you?"

Harry sat down next to me his neck and its new hickey facing the wall, so they couldn't see it. He slid his arm around my waist and moved closer. "This is Louis," he explained.

Robin said, "Ah. The Louis."

Harry blushed. It was insanely cute.

Anne looked at him with a smile, "The Louis, indeed, we’ve heard a lot about you."

I blushed.

"Harry, get dressed. You're walking the dogs. It's the least you can do, seeing as you got suspended and all," Robin ordered. He looked at me. "You can help, if you want to. So you aren't stuck here with his psycho parents."

Harry threw a pillow at his step-dad's head. "Leave. I'll do it."

"Bye, honey," Anne said.

"Bye, mother dearest," he answered back in a sing-song voice. When they shut the door, he looked at me. "Sorry they're so weird."

"They're fine, I like them," I told him, kissing my new favorite spot on Harry: his neck. He had...a hot neck.

That sounds creepy. I apologize.

"You don't have to come," he said, as I nuzzled his neck and he kissed my temple. "I'm gonna get dressed."

"Oh," I said, getting up.

"You don't have to leave," he winked, pulling off his shirt. I tried to go, but I couldn't. He pulled a t-shirt out of his drawer and pulled it on over his head, then shucked off his flannel pants and slid into some jeans that were lying on the floor. Then he tightened the belt and went over to the mirror, shaking his head and pulling his fingers through it.

I had, by far, the hottest boy I had ever seen, wrapped around my finger. I went up behind him and slid my arms around his waist, reaching up to kiss the back of his neck. He met my eyes in the mirror and bit on the inside of his cheek.

"You're important to me," he stated.

"Okay," I told him. "You are, too. To me."

He sighed. "I used to be different, you know," he said. "Before you."

I leaned my head on his muscular back. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"I don't want you to change," I said.

"It's not that, Louis. I'm still me. It's just the way that I feel about things. About you. It's different."

He rested his hands over mine on his stomach. "Well, Harry, you have absolutely no idea how much different I am since you. I'd never had a kiss, much less a boyfriend. I've never...felt this kind of thing before."

Harry twined our fingers. "We're in our Honeymoon stage right now."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a good thing. Let's stay in it forever."

I would choose the Bermuda for a Honeymoon, but right here, wrapped around Harry, was wonderful, too.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

"I love you," Harry said.

I screamed, jumping back a few feet.

Harry looked up at me, shocked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I rushed out, and watched him pet the top of his dog's head, stroke down his back. "I thought there was a...bug."

He lifted an eyebrow but then turned back around, scratching behind Max’s ears, and continued cooing. "Yes, aren't you such a good boy? Yes you are. You're the greatest dog ever, aren't you? Your owner loves you very much. Let's go for a walk."

The dog let his tongue fall out of his mouth as he pushed his head into Harry's hand.

I stayed there, frozen. "You coming, babe? Or do you want to stay here? Or, you know, you could go home, and I could go over there after I'm done."

We'd agreed that we wanted to spend the rest of the day together. "Um, why don't you meet me at home? That way I can get some homework done before you come over."

"Okay," Harry said, getting up from his crouch and pecking me on the lips. "Zayn will give you a ride home."

When I got home, I had some thinking to do.

I thought that Harry had just confessed his love for me, when he was really saying it to his dog, and I screamed. What if Harry and I actually got to that point in the future? What if I fell in love with him, and him with me? Would I scream? Or would I say it back? Would that ever really happen?

This is the result of not planning things. This is what happens. I got out my schedule, and looked at the date. On the day that Harry and I first got together, when we were official, there was a star sticker. It'd been about two months since then. Okay, I think that five months is a reasonable amount of time until you confess your love for somebody. Because until you get to about two and a half months, I think that it's fair to say that the whole thing could be an illusion, and it's all just puppy love. Past that point, once you realize that it's serious, it takes awhile to build up a relationship until you get to that point, where you're in love with that person.

I marked each point with a little circle sticker, after thinking long and hard, doing some research, and had just finished when my doorbell rang.

By the time I got downstairs, my mom was hugging Harry.

She's the type of person that gets familiar with people really easily. Harry stood there, frozen, and then, very slowly warmed up to her and hug her back.

"Louis has been so happy since she's been with you!" Mom said happily, smiling and shaking his shoulders. I blushed.

Harry looked at me over her shoulder. "Well, that's good." Then he winked at me.

HOT.

Sometimes, my brain does that: shouts out single words. Because that's the thought that is just...overcoming my thoughts, not letting me think anything else. And that's all I was thinking about at the moment. My boyfriend's hotness, when he does that little smirk.Or when he smiles.

 

I was sitting on a bench in my free period, studying something, when I spotted Harry and another guy walking somewhere. He didn't see me, but they were just walking, returning to class or something. The guy said something, and I watched Harry throw his head back, and him laugh.

After that, he was smiling.

It's just a beautiful smile, what he has. Perfect teeth, light in his eyes and light flush on his cheeks, and I wanted more than anything to go up to him, to look at it closer, to make him smile like that.

Back in my room I went to my bed and continued studying my notes. Harry sat beside me and looked down at my notebook.

He laughed. "Harry. Harry. My Harry. Louis plus Harry. Heart. Harry."

Jesus. Did I have to be such a cliché? Really? Drawing a guy's name in my notebook? I went to get up, and kept calm then then thanked god I hadn't written in what the stickers stood for.

"What are the stickers for?" he asked, craning his head to look at me. "And why do they say Harry on the pages that they're on?"

I am not a liar. I, seriously, CANNOT lie. It is very weird and highly dangerous in situations like this.

But, thank goodness, I am very skilled in changing the subject in a way that does not seem abrupt.

"So, you're having a party on Friday," I said smoothly.

Harry looked at me. "That was real sneaky, Louis. You should become a professional subject changer. If, you know, those perfect grades don't get you into a helluva good college. Just a backup plan."

Harry's sarcasm is amusing when it's not pointed toward me.

As in right now.

"I like when you kiss me, Harry," I said, out of nowhere.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Okay. Now what do the stickers mean?"

I threw my face into the pillow and cried, "I can't tell you! You'll think I'm crazy!"

"I'm crazy about you," he said, all cheesy and all cuteness (though I couldn't actually see his face). Then he was much closer, his hand on my back, and the other lifting up my face. He kissed my ear. "Anyway. I just think I deserve to know, since, well, it has my name on it and all that."

"It's just..." I flipped over. "Okay, fine. It's about things that are supposed to happen between us at certain times."

His eyes were as wide as saucers. "Like what?"

"I won't say any more," I said, shaking my head and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"You have to! What if I screw up, and the things I do aren't on your schedule, and then you don't want to be with me anymore?"

"I don't think that's ever gonna happen," I whispered. "Anyway, um, that party Friday night?"

Harry laid his face in the crook of my neck and kissed it. "Yeah. You're coming. And if it's not your scene, we can leave. I have a surprise for you, for Friday night."

I lifted his head up to look at him, right into his eyes. "Art room?" (I have been incessantly bothering him about it since day one).

He laughed. "No," he said, then leaned back so his head was on my arm. "I don't get why that's so important to you, anyway. I mean, it's just art."

"But you're good at it," I said. "And it's a part of you."

"So is my penis," he told me.

I rolled my eyes.

"Anyway, what's the surprise?"

"I lied," he said. "There's no surprise. Except, well...okay. I drew you a picture. It's nothing special, though. Just a picture."

But I knew that it wasn't just a picture, by the way he wouldn't look at me when he said it.

I leaned over and kissed his mouth, hard. Taken by surprise, he froze at first, before his arms came around me and cocooned me on his chest. Then he laid me so he was above me on my bed, and kissed me like that, with his hands on my neck. Then, very slowly, he lowered his hips down to mine.

I'm eighteen, a Senior in high school. Most get here, to this point, like, Freshman year.

I had my hands in his hair, as he started a slow grind against me. It was fine—more than fine, actually, and he was holding onto my hips, moving them with his. This continued for awhile, and I leaned up and sucked on his neck, like he likes, while scratching his scalp with my nails. That was when I felt it.

Yes, it.

"I have to pee," I said, and Harry drew his head back.

"Um," Harry said, and rolled off of me, but then reached out and grabbed my hand. "No, you don't. You were just uncomfortable. Hey. Come back."

I did, and, embarrassed, hid my face in his chest. He stroked my hair. "Sorry," I grumbled. "It's just...I could, like, feel it."

Harry threw his head back and laughed, clutching me tighter.

"You're so adorable," he said, still laughing. "Too adorable."

He sighed.

"I think you should be more worried if you didn't feel it, hon," he said. "That would mean I'm a girl."

This felt like sex-ed all over again. But worse, because he kept on laughing at me, instead of the whole, "It's okay to be curious," thing that teachers would say. To hide his laughter, somewhat, he pressed his mouth against my shoulder. He kissed it.

"It's just what happens when you're making out with your super hot boyfriend, Louis."

"I know that...Harry-Hot?" I asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Yes," he nodded. "You are very hot."

Well, that felt good.

Here I was, on a bed, horizontal, with an insanely attractive boy, who thinks I'm very hot.

What will this lead to?

I don't know, really, what any of it's going to lead to? Drama, positively. Heartbreak? I hope not. Love? Very likely. Would we have a terrible break up, with throwing things and ripping things and broken hearts? And then would we just forget about each other, and move onto other people?

"Harry," I whispered, sliding down his body until we were face to face, and I kissed him softly. "You are everything."

His eyes softened, and his hands crawled up my back. "You are, too."

"Is this...special? Is this important to you?"

Harry said, "Very, to both questions."

"What about me?" I asked, scared of his reply.

"We've been dating only a month," he said slowly, letting each word roll off of his tongue. "But you...you're my world. As corny as that sounds. I'm not gonna go into a whole speech about how you make my life brighter and all of that, but you make me happy. Every day, just knowing you're mine, I'm happy. And it's never really been like that before."

That was true for me, as well.

I've had a perfect life, but a lifeless one, until I met Harry. I snuggled in close to him, and we didn't fit perfectly together, no. He was way taller than me, and his hips weren't made for mine to rest in the curve of them, and his chest didn't hug my back when we spooned, and my shoulder wasn't a perfect crook for his head, but we were so close that that's what it felt like: we were made for each other.

And the more time I spent with him, the more I was convinced of that.

 

Friday night came fast, and I had no idea what to do. The Styles’ were famous for these huge, wild house parties that everybody went to and got messed up at. What was I supposed to do there, show up in my buttoned up shirt and jeans, drink nothing but water, and hope for the best?

Harry came into my room while I was sitting on the edge of my bed, moping.

"T'sup?" he asked, looking at me.

I groaned. "I don't want to go."

"Okay," Harry agreed, much easier than I was expecting. But he still reached down, grabbed my hands, and tugged me up. "But we still have to go to my house."

"Why? My mom won't be home until the morning..." I trailed off, running my hands over his chest in an attempt to be sexy.

"As much as I'd love to stay here with you, alone, I have to go home, and I want to spend the time with you. So why don't we just go there, and stay in my room?"

Not sexy enough, apparently!

"Fine. But look how I'm dressed."

He did. "So?"

"So," I said, going over to my closet, "I'm not going to a party like this."

Harry sighed, coming over to me. He grabbed onto my shoulders and turned me toward him. He then went over to my drawers, ran through them without cleaning up after himself, threw a tan jumper and jeans, then ran down the stairs, calling, "Clock's ticking, sweetheart!"

When I got down there, he was texting on his phone. He glanced up at me.

Then he pecked me on the lips. "Perfect."

 

The party was already crazy by the time we got there. I greeted Liam and Zayn, and a few other people that I had been sitting with lately before going up to Harry's room. He said he'd be up there in a few seconds; he just had to chat with a few people first.

Fifteen minutes later, he came in, saying, "Boo," into my ear, his hands behind his back.

"Hey," I smiled, looking at him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay down there?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I need to be with you. And you know why?" I shook my head. "Because I'm going to be the first person to ever drink with Louis Tomlinson."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Is that right."

He smiled. "I won't force you to do anything, but I think it'll be good for you."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Harold?"

He sat down next to me. "Just tipsy."

Then he pulled out two glass bottles of alcohol.

I didn't want to get tipsy.

"I don't want to," I said, eyeing the bottles warily. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Okay," he said. "I'm just sayin'. Most get drunk Freshman year. Gotta experience these things sometime."

He had a point.

"Yeah," I agreed. "When I'm twenty-one."

Harry smiled at me. "Alrighty." Then he unscrewed the bottle and took a little sip. He smiled, a little dimple appearing, as I tucked my feet underneath my thighs and watched him. His hair fell forward into his eyes, and I wiped it out of the way, before reaching in and losing my fingers in his dark locks that he swept away with a famous shake of his head. Then I kissed him, long enough and deep enough so that I could taste the Vodka on his tongue.

I didn't really care that he was drinking. I mean, it was normal. It was a party. I knew it was weird that I'd never taken a sip. And Harry, he wasn't, like, a regular drinker. He just drank when it was a normal thing to do.

Like now.

He put down the bottle to hold my face in both of his hands: warm, big palms on both sides of my head, and deepened the kiss, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle.

I seriously could not help it. I responded, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck and pushing my tongue into his mouth, his coming and dancing with mine. His hands slid down my back to my hips, and he held me firmly to him.

I pressed our chests together, and then he let out this tiny little moan from the back of his throat, and I kissed him harder.

"Ouch," he said, pulling back. "Jesus. You are a fierce one, aren't you?"

But he was smiling, and slid his hands underneath my shirt and up my back and leaned forward, kissing me gently.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Never say sorry," he said.

We were slow like this for awhile, but I'm eighteen.

I was on my back, and Harry pushed my jumper way up with one hand slowly making its way to my ass, and I was thinking I'm so glad we're not drunk. Because then it wouldn't be as special. You know, because this was a new step, and all.

A step that was supposed to happen four months from now, according to my master plan.

That's why I was almost happy when Kendall and Andrew charged into his room.

ALMOST, I SAID.

We sat up immediately. So quick.

"Ah, look," she sneered, "you've already gotten another whore in your bed."

I wondered if she was aware that she just called herself a whore as well, by using the term another.

"You just called yourself a whore," Harry told her then he glared at Andrew. "And he is the furthest thing from a whore—"

Kendall cut him off, standing in front of me, hands on her hips. "Honey, don't you realize how many people he's slept with? You're just another one. Trust me. He threw me away like trash, and he'll do the—"

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" Harry shouted, getting up. Andrew stepped forward, but it wasn't even protective, which made me angry for some inexplicable reason. Harry had his hands on Kendall's shoulders. "You think that it's funny to come to a party you're not even invited to, and come into my room with your new boyfriend. You're so pathetic! And then to think that you can come and insult my boyfriend! Get over yourself!"

She looked like she was going to kill him.

But she said: "You can't seriously stand there and pretend like what we had was nothing, Harry," she said, softly.

I suddenly felt like I was the one who wasn't supposed to be there. This was their moment. To take it or leave it all behind.

As I watched, I curled into a ball, my back against the wall. Blake looked at me.

Harry said, "I'm sorry," and dropped his hands from her shoulders.

But, I mean, they'd been dating for a very long time. It was nearly impossible to not have any respect for the other, that you'd shared all of that time with.

Kendall said, "So am I." And she cried. He wiped her tears away with the tips of his fingers, but then took a step back. She turned, like to go into Andrew's arms, but he was already gone, without a sound. With her shoulders back, Kendall marched right out of that room, and slammed the door behind her.

She's braver than I would've been.

Harry stood there for a brief moment, hands linked behind his head, and he let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Louis," he said, getting on the bed again. He came close and wrapped his arms around me, until my chin was hooked over his shoulder. I sighed, then broke free and crawled to the edge of the bed.

I brought the bottle up to my lips and took a short, disgusting sip. I wanted to spit it out, but didn't want to mess up his bed sheets, so I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed it down.

Harry laughed, a charming little laugh, and took the bottle from me. He'd sip, and then I'd sip, and it didn't take long for me to get tipsy.

"You are gorgeous," I told Harry, who didn't seem the slightest bit drunk. My head was in his lap, and he was stroking my hair.

"Shush," he said, "I'm trying to concentrate." He was attempting to braid my hair.

I could feel how ugly it looked, but I just laughed.

"You really are. I couldn't have asked for a hotter boyfriend." Harry met my eyes just so he could roll his own. "Seriously," I said, sitting up on my elbows, causing Harry to curse as the braid got messed up. "Why did you choose me, of all people that are, like, in love with you? Or beautiful? Like Kendall?"

Harry pushed on my shoulders until I was in his lap again. "You're more beautiful. It's just in a different way, Louis. In your own way."

"You're just saying that because it's what a boyfriend should say," I protested, reaching for the bottle again. He pushed it so it was out of reach.

He shrugged. "If you don't believe it, I can't make you. But if it counts for anything, you're gorgeous." Then his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to braid more of my hair.

I fell asleep soon after, but I wasn't thinking about anything that Harry had just said. I dreamed about what Kendall had said. About me just being another notch in his bedpost. About everything. About how I didn't want to have a broken heart, like she did.

I just wanted to be like this: In Harry's arms, forever.

But god, wasn't I too old to believe in fairy tales anymore?

 

After my extremely irresponsible three hour nap post-slight-tipsy-ness, I was extremely surprised to find that the party was still in full swing. The music was still pounding, and I could hear people outside of the door. How long were these types of things? I also woke up by myself. I went to the bathroom that was connected to Harry's room, and then slipped on my shoes, brushed my fingers through my hair, and slipped out of the door. He'd locked it.

I locked it from the inside again, and then shut it once I'd slipped out. On my way downstairs, I stopped to chat with a few people, and then I finally saw Harry, sitting on the couch with Zayn, who had Gigi in his lap. He was laughing. Kendall sat on the other couch, talking with Barbara, smiling.

"Hey," someone said, and I spun around, finding Andrew.

"Hi," I said back, folding my hands together. He smiled shyly. "What's up?"

"Nothin' much. I'd leave, but I'm Kendall's ride."

"What kind of ride?" I asked, before I could even think about the words that were leaving my mouth.

Andrew rose one eyebrow and looked at me. "Not that kind of ride," he said. Then he said, "Not...no. Her and I...no."

I rose an eyebrow in return. I'd seen them with my own two eyes, making out before.

He said, "It's just fun. But we don't, like, fuck."

Oh. I should probably tell Harry that. So, you know, he doesn't get jealous, or feel bad about himself.

We both look over at Kendall, who's laughing with Courtney now, and she's so pretty. She really is. It's like this extreme case of just plain beauty. Thick black hair, with brown eyes, and I never realized how beautiful of a couple her and Harry were while they lasted.

"I know that I've been so weird," Andrew says to me, "and I'm sorry. There's just...a lot."

"It's okay," I assure him, because he's a pretty nice guy, and from up close, looks pretty harmless. He's, a tall, kinda buff guy. His hair is shorter than Harry's, and he's not as cute, but he still pulls off that tall, dark, and handsome look.

"I've gone to school with you since, like, kindergarten," he says now with a laugh. "But never really talked to you."

Or at all.

He reaches out, grabs my hand, shakes it, but leaves his palm there, warm. He twines his fingers between mine, and before I can pull away I'm frozen by the sound of his voice. It's taken on a new kind of sound: syrupy, seductive. "Nice to finally meet you, Louis Tomlinson," he says.

Then he gives me the most charming smile I've ever seen in my entire life.

That's when Harry stands up, looking at our hands, shaking his head, and laughing just enough so that I know he is beyond pissed off. He looks at Blake, and asks, with a bright, terribly angry smile on his face, "You're kidding me, right?"

Then Harry decks him, and the entire room goes silent for a moment, like it's chaining back all the sounds, before the beast called chaos is released, and all hell breaks loose.

\------------------------------------  
Harry---

Before you go off on me for being an uncontrollable, overreacting douche bag with anger issues, let me make a few things clear. First, I will never be as much of a douchebag as Andrew is. Second, he totally messed up my first real relationship, with a girl that I really did care about, and then my second, and so while maybe I overreacted a little bit by socking him in the face, like hell I was going to let him steal away, or even attempt to steal away Louis. I mean, I'm way hotter than him, anyway. But Louis is Louis and Louis is new to this, and so he could be completely naïve while he's trying to woo him, and then before we know it, he's fallen.

And I just can't have that, because I'm falling.

I admit it. I really am.

Here's the story of Andy and I:

We met when we were three years old, because our parents knew each other and forced us into the same sandbox to play in. We fought for the first year, but my mom and his stayed close, and after we realized that this forced friendship would probably never end, we just were friends willingly, and became closer than ever.

We were really, really close, from age five to age seventeen. Then he screwed my girlfriend that I had in junior year. To get back at me, because it was apparently my fault that I was Varsity Rugby captain and he wasn't. I mean, I hadn't even screwed her yet, and she was my girlfriend.

You know what they say: Bros before Hos.

And I'm all for that, too. Blake was my bro. We were tight. This was betrayal.

I go by: Bros before Hos (Unless said "Bro" screws said "Ho" behind your back, just for revenge).

I mean, the girl, Kaitlyn, she wasn't that important, either. Pretty girl, but we weren't in love or anything. It was just the concept. He was jealous, so he screwed her, just to piss me off. He didn't even like her. And when I called him out on it, he didn't even apologize. He just smiled, like he was a sweet motherfucker, and then left.

Like, out of my life.

You know, everyone thinks that guys don't feel emotion or anything, but Andrew and I were really close, so of course it sucked to lose him as a friend. I didn't cry or anything, but it still sucked, because I hated him and he hated me, but at the same time, sometimes I needed him for support, because he used to be the only one, maybe besides Zayn, who I knew always had my back.

Oh well.

Since then, he'd made a point of sleeping with every person I've dated. Which makes me look stupid, and makes the girls and him look like sluts. I just wasn't going to let that happen to Louis.

Louis let out this little scream when I punched Andrew. I looked at him, and his hands had flown over his mouth, eyes wide. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was a monster, but by the time I regretted it, he'd already gotten up and launched himself at me.

And I socked him again, hearing cracks, and screams. But the fight was short, because Liam had gotten up, and was holding Andrew off, and took the chance to get in a punch himself. Win! I thought, because now it was two up against one. But Liam just pulled him further. Liam's a big guy. He's got more muscle and he's in every sport, and with all my punches smashed into Andrew’s face already, he didn't have to struggle too much to get him out of the house (probably to a hospital).

I heard the door click.

Everyone was staring at me. I had blood from his nose on my knuckles.

I looked at Louis. Fuck, he looked scared, sitting on the couch next to Gigi, who had her arm thrown across his shoulders. I made my way into the kitchen then, wiping my face off with a towel and washing my hands, then leaning against the counter.

Louis came in a few seconds later, leaning against the counter across from mine. I looked at him through my fingers which were fanned out across my face.

"Hey," he said, chewing on his lip. "All he did was shake my hand."

I laughed, realizing how much of an asshole I sounded like.

"You don't understand," I told him.

"Make me understand, then," he urged, coming over to me, and peeling my hands off of my face and pressing his body against mine. "Because you have some serious issues."

"Thanks, babe," I said sarcastically, winding my arms around his waist.

Louis smiled and put his arms around my neck. "So what's up?"

I groaned. "Nothing. He's just an asshole. Did you know that he's slept with almost every person that I've gone out with, or been interested in? I just think that's bullshit. And I can't have him, like, seducing you, you know?"

Louis laughed into my chest. "He wasn't seducing me. He was giving me a handshake."

I kissed his head. "That's not the point. The point is that I'm tired of it."

He looked up at me, and touched his finger to my fat lip. "I won't get seduced, Harry. I promise. Wanna show me that picture you made me?"

I squinted down at him. "Yeah, sure," I said slowly. I leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. "Sorry that I got in a fight. You probably think I'm an assho—" I cut myself off, remembering how much he hated it when I cursed. "Jerk."

Louis smiled at me, grabbing my hand and leading me away. "No," he smirked, looking back at me. "You're an asshole."

God, he was more like me than I was.

 

I watched Louis's face carefully as his calculating eyes scanned over it. My hand was on his shoulder, massaging it or something. He leaned his head against my shoulder and looked at it. Then sighed.

"It's not..."

Louis said, "It's wonderful. You know it is. Don't even start."

"I like painting," I told him, leaning my head against his, too. My fingers traced patterns across his back until my arm was draped around his shoulders. "Calming."

He didn't say anything for awhile. Then he asked, "You painted this for me?"

I stepped away from him and went over to the easel, peeling it off and putting it in a large manila folder-like thing, then put it on my desk for him.

"Yeah."

He looked at me and leaned her hip against the wall. "Wow. You're...you're really an artist. You should, like...do something with this. You're beyond good."

I laughed and tugged my hair. "Yeah, well."

Louis glanced at me, mouth twisted to the side. I mocked him by making the face, and he rolled his eyes. I rolled mine, then stuck my tongue out. He mimicked me. Then I dived for him, wrapping my arms around his body and tackling him to the bed, laying sloppy kisses on his face just because it was hard not to be touching him. He giggled and tried to push me away, but I kept him with me and kissed down his neck, laughing. Then gave him a raspberry on his shoulder and her tummy, and we were a fit of giggles and squeals.

I mean, not me of course. I don't giggle. Nor squeal. I'm a man, let me remind you.

Louis was giggling and squealing, wrapping himself around me because that's how we were: inseparable. I kissed his ear and blew in it, and he was crying with laughter as I tickled her underneath her ribs. Telling me to stop, but wrapping her legs around my thighs.

I took a break and stopped, laying down, but kept her with me because I was starting to see that without her, it was hard to breathe.

 

Eventually, the party died down, and the only people left were the ones passed out (ten), me, Zayn, Gigi, and Louis. The younger siblings were at their friends' houses. Zayn had been drinking a little, but the rest of us hadn't...not since Louis and I had drank a little a few hours before. So we were sober, for the most part.

Gigi was teaching Zayn how to crochet. It's this weird yarn thing that you do to make blankets and scarves and stuff? Weird. He was getting frustrated. Telling her that he felt like a grandma. But kept on being a girl and crocheting. Gigi looked proud of him, but then she got a little too proud of him and starting kissing his neck every time he did it right or something. Then they left the room.

Louis was holding my hand in both of his, eyelids fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

"Go to bed, baby," I told her softly, shutting off the TV and stroking his arm.

He grumbled. "I have to go home," he told me. "My mom'll freak if she doesn't get home and sleep me."

He was really tired.

"Okay, I'll take you home," I said, sort of understanding what he was saying. Louis thanked me...sort of...and reached his arms up to the sky, eyes still closed. I smiled and picked him up, feeling his arms wrap around my neck. I grabbed my keys and his bag, and my painting, and opened the door. Once he was settled in the passenger seat, she was knocked out.

At his house, I picked him up again, his face burying in my neck, and fished around his bag for his keys. In his room, I tucked him under the covers. He reached out blindly to grab my arm and tug on it. Asking me to stay with him. His eyelashes settled on his cheeks:

Undeniable beauty

Purity

Innocence

Lovely

And I just stared at him for a second, before kissing his cheek and sliding underneath the covers with him. I felt him curl up against my back, tangling her bare legs with my jean-clad ones. I brought his hand to my mouth but didn't kiss it, just left it there, against my lips. His heartbeat screaming in my ear, telling me things that I was at the same time trying to deny: Soon, you won't be able to live without this.

In a corner of my brain, underneath all of the bullshit I stuffed in there, tucked in a neat, shiny little box, I knew this already. That I was falling hard for him. We're one of those weird couples. Look weird, act weird, but we're so...normal. It's each other. Any other people that acted like we did, it'd be weird. But he's perfect for me. He's attractive to me: everything about him.

It's those things, the little ones. Like the way he chews her lip off when he studies. How he can't cook to save his life. His big toe is shorter than the second one. His face isn't entirely symmetrical. He has a heart-shaped mole on his right shoulder blade. He gets this fire in his eyes when someone talks of their father. How he kisses my jaw. Runs his fingers through my hair. Plays Black Ops. Wears faded jeans.

It's just everything. In all the wrong ways, we couldn't be more right for each other.

A few hours later, I left. Sliding out of her bed, watching him roll into the warm imprint in her bed that I'd made. Wished I could, sometime, also make an imprint in her heart. Wondered if he'd get herself tangled in that warmth, too. If he'd do it willingly, if he'd try, or if it would be something that happened by accident: like falling, or stumbling into it, tripping, face-planting.

Let's see: if I were him, and he were me, I'd wander into it. Get lost in it. High off of it. Never leave.

No, no; I'd never, ever leave.

 

Not 3 months later, Louis broke up with me. Over the phone. I'm not joking.

"Harry?" he asked. "I thought you spent the night last night?"

I'd been doing that a lot. Leaving in the middle of the night to avoid an ass whooping.

Get this: Louis sounded pissed.

"Didn't think your mom would like to find me in bed with her son."

Louis said, "I don't care. I didn't mind."

"Well, I'd mind if you got grounded." I sighed. "Anyway, I stayed for a few hours before I took off."

He sighed. "I'm going to the library today to study, so we can't hang out."

"Okay..." I said.

"Not that you wanted to hang out or anything—"

"Louis," I interrupted, "what is up with you?"

Another sigh, then a groan. Then his voice was muffled, most likely by his pillow. I wanted to run my hand down his spine. Maybe he was naked. I'd like to run my hand down his naked back.

It's my morning horniness. Just ignore it.

"Nothing. Gotta go. Bye."

Then he hung up. Called me back thirty seconds later.

"I'm sorry. I'm just stressed out. I got a B on my math test. I just checked online."

OH, NO! THE SKY IS FALLING!

I didn't say that, of course.

"It's okay, Louis," I told him. "That's still a good grade."

With a shaky breath, he said, "I've...I've never..."

I thought: Holy SHIT.

"I think it's your fault," he told me, like he was admitting he murdered someone. "And I don't mean that in a bad way. I love being with you. But...if you're making my grades drop, I don't know..."

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "Your grades aren't even dropping! And what do you mean 'I don't know...'? What don't you know?"

Louis said, "It's just...you're distracting me..."

"So what?" I yelled. "You deserve to have a life."

"Maybe...just...we could take a break or something? Just while I figure this out."

The phone clicked in my ear.

I thought that was the most ridiculous thing that had ever happened to me. Completely ridiculous. Absolutely. What the...

WHAT BULLSHIT! HE GOT A B ON HIS TEST, AND THEN...DID HE JUST BREAK UP WITH ME?

I drove over to his house, speeding. This was too ridiculous. Wanna take a wild guess as to who was at his door when I got there, holding roses?

You got it.

Andrew.

That ass.

That bastard.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snapped, walking past him and shoving him out of the way. Apparently, he'd already knocked, though, because Louis was at the door. I turned toward Andrew again, ignoring him momentarily. "Seriously? You know what? Louis doesn't even like roses."

To prove my point, I threw his roses on the floor.

Then stomped on them.

Then told him to go fuck himself and get lost.

He protested at first, but then Louis said, quietly, that maybe that was a good idea.

So, of course, he did. But not before stepping forward to almost kiss Louis on the cheek. I pushed him away before that could happen, because there was no way in hell he was getting anywhere near my guy. Before he could say another word, I shoved my way into the house and slammed the door behind me.

Louis was leaning against the door, looking scared.

"Before we get onto the whole you dumping me thing, want to tell me why he was here...with roses?" I couldn't hold back the fury that was seeping into my voice. This was just too much bullshit. Let me break it down for you:

I can only take so much bullshit a day.

Most of that comes from Zayn and my older sister.

Then some from my boyfriend.

From my parents.

From my team.

From my teachers.

From Black Ops.

But I really can't take Andrew, too. It overflows my bullshit meter, and makes it all explode, and then I'm angry, like right now.

"I don't know, Harry. He likes me, I guess."

"No, he doesn't," I told him. "He just wants to get back at me."

"Oh, yes," he said, pushing off of the door and going into the kitchen. "Because there's no possibility anyone could, like, I dunno, like me. Of course."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I said, following him. "I meant that Andy only goes after what's mine."

"So, I'm property now?"

"What are you talking about? You're so dumb! Just—stop talking. You make no sense. What I was trying to say was that Andy was on your porch because—"

"Andy'?" she questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

I blinked. "Huh?"

"You call him 'Andy.' You guys were, like, best friends, huh? What happened?"

I shook my head. "Not going to explain that right now."

Louis sighed and crouched to get some fruit out of the drawer of his refrigerator. His shirt rode up, and a taunting, tan sliver of skin was exposed between his shirt and the hem of his jeans.

"You broke up with me," I stated, staring at the skin. Wanting to touch it.

He turned around. "No. I just think we need a break until I figure out what's going with my grades."

Then he went to sit on the couch in his living room. I followed him and sat down, letting my head fall between my knees. I tugged at my hair. He reached over to stop my hands and put them in his own lap, holding them.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of in my life, Louis, really. That's such bullshit. You broke up with me—"

"Want a break!"

"—Because you got a B. Are you kidding?"

He just played with my fingers. I thought that maybe he was drunk. But he's not the kind of to drink to drown his sorrows.

I scoffed. "Jesus, do you care about me at all?" I asked, lifting my face to see surprised eyes. "Had to make up some excuse? Because you should just say it to my face."

"No!" He said, "Of course I care about you!"

Louis was squeezing my fingers.

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his mouth softly. He stared at me, eyes open.

"What are you doing?" he breathed. I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned him back, kissing him more soundly.

"Kissing the stupidity out of you," I explained, kissing him again. Parting his lips. Kissing him hard. My hands creeping across his shoulders and feeling the hot skin of her back. "Duh."

When I felt him smile, I knew I had this in the bag.

His fingers went to my neck and he wrapped his arms around me. I lowered him onto the couch, aligned our bodies because I was in love with his. Wrapped his hair in my hands and gripped at what I could. Sucked on his top lip, then the bottom, and inhaled his moan until I had one of my own.

"Okay, I think all of the stupidity is gone now," he breathed, a delicate peppermint dancing across my face.

"I don't know...we should make sure..." I kissed him some more, until my hands were covering his ass and I knew that if I didn't stop now, it would be too hard to later.

But when I pulled away, Louis said, "No, don't," and—

Opened his eyes to show me the delicious spark in them. Held me down to him and told me that it was okay, so I explored his butt, like any normal teenage boy would. I mean, it's not like I'd never felt a someone up before; quite the contrary, actually, but this was different. I kissed him and touched him until we decided that it was best to stop. Or more like I decided and he protested.

Then I left. He was going to the library to study. After a few final kisses on his mouth and confirming that we were still together and he was a dumb-ass, I was hopping down his porch to my car. Louis came and got me, kissing me some more, smiling against my mouth and sliding his hands underneath my shirt to feel my stomach.

"You...have...to...go..." I told him between hot kisses, but didn't let him go.

He laughed into my mouth and I swallowed it, pressing my mouth harder, then pulling back and kissing his forehead.

"Bye, Harry," he said, holding onto my hands, smiling. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I called back, letting go of his hands and walking toward my car.

I was halfway home when I realized it was the first time we'd said it aloud. A smile spilled onto my face.

Baby, it's fact.

"Let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster. So testosterone boys and harlequin girls, will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?" —Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, Panic! At the Disco

Perfect  
Harry--

Epilogue

And I'll Be By Your Side,

Wherever You Fall,

In the Dead of Night,

Whenever You Call,

And Please Don't Fight,

These Hands That Are Holding You

My Hands Are Holding You

"No," he said, tugging back.

"Yes," I said.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Fine!"

"...Seriously?"

"No."

This had been going on for awhile now.

I was trying to convince him to marry me. Seriously. And he was saying no.

I'd proposed to him five times now.

I thought that this surely would work, this time. It was so romantic and perfect. And yet—here we were, him rejecting me...again.

I stood up now, and started to walk away, only to hear him calling after me. "Stop, Harry! Just 'cause I won't marry you doesn't mean you can just walk away! Jesus! You stupid jerk!"

Ugh. He's lucky I love him, because...ugh.

…….

We were sitting in our bed, with him in-between my legs. I was massaging his shoulders while he sighed and moaned and told me thank you. We were sitting on...just a mattress, actually. No sheets, a few new pillows. Boxes were stacked up all around us.

Twenty three, baby.

He wasn't the type to shack up with his boyfriend after high school, but we were well-off. If we broke up (which we weren't going to) He'd be able to survive on his own (which He wasn't going to have to do. Ever.) because he was all rich and stuff.

"You're amazing," he sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his face slightly to press a small kiss to my neck before resuming his position so that I could continue my awesome masseuse skills.

I leaned down and tugged on his earlobe with my teeth before whispering into it: "I know. So marry me, you idiot."

He smiled and turned around in my arms, kissing me softly, hands on either side of my face.

"Someday. I promise."

*****

He eventually agreed, though. Of course. 'Cause he loves me and stuff.

"Seriously?"

Louis looked over at me. "Yeah."

He was still staring at the huge wall that I'd painted. On the left was a silhouette of a boy and a girl kissing, and on the rest of it, in huge letters, was, "MARRY ME YOU STUBBORN BUTTHEAD."

"But we have to paint over this. Like, now."

"Don't you think we should leave it?" I mused. "So our kids can look at it someday and be like, 'Awwww'?''

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Kids?" There was an arched eyebrow on his forehead.

I reached forward and pulled him to me, wrapping my arms around his and kissing away his questions and giving him answers and god, I love him, and pouring my heart into him and pressing him up against the wet proposal on the wall.

****

We had a summer wedding, the next year, since Louis is my summer boy. He's got this warm tan skin and spark in his eyes and sunshine streaks in his dark hair. Bright smiles and short dresses and flip flops and no makeup and bikinis and breaks and lounge chairs and martinis.

We had this wedding on green grass with white everything. Chairs and tables and dresses. There's lace and there's ice sculptures and alcohol and laughter and everything's great. And then he's coming down the aisle, and he's so beautiful. Pink lips and white teeth and I'm so lucky that he's crazy, you know why?

Because if he weren't crazy, he would never have come up to me that day about ruining his life because of my grades. Sane people don't do that. And if he'd never have done that I'd never gone up to him, because he's unapproachable. And if I'd never have gone for him, he'd never give into me. And if he'd never given into me, I'd never have him be my boyfriend, or my fiancé, or my husband.

I'd be sitting somewhere lonely. I'd be sitting on the beach, on this fine Saturday afternoon, instead of getting married. I'd shove my toes into the sand and feel all of the grains and think about how they used to once be these huge rocks and now they're so little. I'd squint at the sun and I'd run my fingers through my hair. Some pretty legs would come up to me and sit on my lap and offer me his fruity drink, and I'd flirt with them, and then I'd take them back to my place, and I'd think that I was happy, but you know what? I wouldn't be.

Because happiness is this, right now. It's watching him come down the aisle and watching the dimple in his cheek appear as he looked into my eyes. Biting his lip and walking fast to me, because he's not wearing a black suit but a dusty blue one that mashes all the attention go to his eyes. 

Louis's across from me now, and I'm holding his hands. He whispers, "Hi."

When we kiss, there's these little tears that are pressed out of the corners of my eyes when I squeeze them shut, and there's nothing but here and now and everything is Louis and everything is what I want with him, which is everything and anything and all of it.

*****

We honeymooned in Rome.

He's his nerdy self, examining all the old stuff that I don't care about, during the day, but at night he's all mine. We stay in this awesome hotel with a huge tub with jets and this soft bed and this awesome view.

We finally talk about kids when we're in this soft bed.

Louis is naked except for this sheet that he's wrapped around his body lazily and it's distracting me from the objective, which is convincing him to have my babies. He's in my lap, too, fighting off my hands as I try to also convince him to have this conversation naked.

He's not going for it.

"Let's have babies," I tell him.

"How many?" he asks.

"I dunno...forty?"

He elbows me playfully (hard) in my stomach and then turns around, pulling up the falling sheet (dammit).

"Fine. I'm thinking three."

Louis hums as he thinks about this. "Two or four. So none of them get lonely."

I shrug. "Four's good. I don't want them to only have the choice of hanging out with one other kid."

"I want all girls. Boys are too annoying."

I jab my fingers into his sides.

"No! Then they'll all be prisses."

"Not necessarily," Louis protests. "My sisters never were prissy in anyway."

I make no comment.

"Right?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"...you're sort of a priss," I admit.

"Am not!"

"You almost killed me when I was holding a frog five feet from you!"

"They're gross."

"You totally just proved my point."

Louis rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything else.

"Whatever, you jerk," he says, crawling over to where I was and lying next to me, "it's not like we can predict the gender of our kids anyway."

"That's true."

"When do you want to have kids?"

"Right now," I admit. "I want a family."

"You're crazy." He flips onto his stomach and props himself onto his elbows. "We're so young! Don't you want to enjoy youngness for right now? Party and stuff?"

I looked at him. "I want to be a young dad."

He sighed and flopped back onto his back.

"Why don't we just let whatever happen, happen?" I asked as I finally pulled the damn sheet down and kissed the planes of his stomach.

"Harry, you know—"

"That I have to have a plan for everything," I sung out (which he hated). "But this time, we're not going to do that. Now shut up. This conversation is over."

"You're so annoying—"

I dove my head under the sheets and he finally shut up.

****

We adopted twins, and god, they were the most beautiful things that I've ever seen in my life.

More beautiful than the sunrise, or the ocean, or Fiji, or flowers, or anything. They were it. A boy and a girl: William and Daisy, and they had dark eyes and hair and happy smiles. Always smiling, those two. Laughing at nothing and smiling at everything.

They loved me, and I can't even describe the way that I love them back. They're a part of me. My own. Never thought I'd be able to feel something like that, and then they come along and it's just...it's just crazy.

It's hard, managing babies and school and everything. We manage, though. And since we didn't have a huge wedding, we saved plenty of money to be able to live well. Plus, I had a job and everything. Louis and I just scheduled our classes so that at no point would the twins be left home alone. If there was ever no way to make that happen, they stayed with one of our parents.

Who were very annoying, by the way.

At first, Louis wouldn't let anyone hold them at all. He had trouble letting me hold them, and they're half mine. But as soon as he grew comfortable enough, the family was all over them like honey and bees. I was, going on and on about how Will's going to play rugby when he's older and all this crap.

Speaking of which...

"Don't say that!" Louis scolded me, slapping my shoulder after I said the word 'crap' in something I said to Zayn.

I looked at him. "Why? It's better than shit."

He frantically covered Daisy's ears, who was in his arms.

"You're going to make our children potty mouths!"

"But you like it when I talk dirty," I said with a smirk, and he glared at me.

"Oh god," Zayn moaned, scooping Daisy up into his arms (pulling him away from an angry Louis) and dismissed himself from the room.

"Stop acting so immature."

I rolled my eyes and leaned forward, scooping up some of the cookie batter that he'd made and putting it into my mouth, causing him to smack me in the stomach. I caught his hand and pulled him into me, smiling.

"It's yummy."

I kissed him.

"You're yummy, too," I said, and he rolled his eyes with a smile, pushing away and turning back to the sink, washing a glass. He fit into that housewife roll perfectly, from being an overprotective mother to washing the dishes in the sink even though there was only one. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning down and resting my chin on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I know."

"Forever," I whispered, kissing his neck, and I feel his body relax into mine. "You're an amazing mother, amazing wife."

His body's exhausted, I can feel it. It's all the work, and I just want to take it away. Make him feel better.

He turns around and wraps his whole body around me, and I kiss his forehead.

"I love you, too," he says.

*****

"We haven't gone out on a date in awhile," Louis says casually, in that way that he tries to make seem like it doesn't bother him when it totally does.

"Well," I say, "I was going to surprise you, but since you're complaining so much, I'll just tell you."

"I wasn't complaining at all." He gives me a look.

"Anyway, Friday I made reservations for dinner. Then I figured we could go into town or something. My parents said they'd keep the twins overnight."

He's straddling me, all of a sudden, dropping kisses all over my face and down my neck.

"I love you," he breathes, "you're the best."

He rolls off when we're interrupted by a piercing cry coming through the baby monitor on his nightstand, but it doesn't even matter when I have to get out of bed to check on them. I'm not even pissed or annoyed, like I usually am.

Life's amazing.

 

Louis has been in the bathroom for one and a half hours.

"Open the door, Louis, please," I say, pounding on it, and he keeps telling me to go away.

Eventually, after I've entertained the kiddos with a dumb cartoon, I just break the damn thing down.

He's sitting on the toilet, looking at the door in shock.

"You broke our door!"

"It would have been much easier if you'd just opened it."

His eyes have fateful red circles around them, and I kneel in front of him, my hands on his bare knees. He's wearing his underwear and one of my long sleeved shirts, his hair is knotty and crappy, and he looks miserable.

"Baby," I say softly, and all of a sudden he's throwing up into the toilet again. 

I look back at Louis, and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his flat belly. His arms hold my head to him. I look up at him, smiling, and he has the most exhasted look on his face.

“I think it was the Thai food?" he chokes out.

"It's banned" I stated, then went to go get supplies to help him recover. If I can't help my boy so help me God.

 

We're watching fireworks at the park, the five of us; it's the Fourth of July. The twins are a bit drowsy, and are kind of just sitting there, playing with their toys: Will's got his books, Daisy's got her cell phone. But Emma, she's this wild thing, with Louis's curls and my eyes running circles around us, and laughing and keeps on hurting himself.

"Emma," Louis calls out, "you have five seconds to sit down. The fireworks are about to start."

Louis starts to count down, but Emma, she's a rebel, she's my girl, standing there shouting, "Make me!"

He gets to zero, and I can tell he's pissed, but I just kiss his cheek and give Emma what she wants: a fight.

I chase after her, and she lets out this high-pitched squeal, laughing and running away. I give her a few seconds of victory before I catch up and scoop her into my arms, flipping her onto my back while tickling the bottom of her feet. She starts hitting my lower back with her tiny fists, and I love her so much. Will's like Louis, and Daisy's like me, but Emma is the perfect mix of both of us.

I drop her onto the comforter that we have set out and give her a raspberry on her stomach, and Louis scolds her a little bit before pulling her between her legs and starting to braid her hair. Daisy's bitching about how she was supposed to be at Samantha's party instead of here with us, and Will’s yelling at everybody to shut up so that he can concentrate. Emma is all restless and messing up her braid, and eventually Louis just gives up.

I'm behind Louis, and my hands are on his stomach, and his arms are wrapped around Emma.

Fireworks shoot up, and Louis leans his head against my chest.

I look down at him as he looks up at me, and I kiss him softly. The twins groan, "Ewww," and Emma is just entranced by her first firework show.

"How are things?" Louis asks me, this little game that we play so that we're never confused about each other's feelings, this little smile playing at the edge of his lips, like he knows what I'm going to say.

I kiss him again and say, "Perfect."


End file.
